


Praeclarus Anguis

by KaedeRavensdale



Series: The Fox and The Stag [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "accidental" stinging hex, Alternate Timelines, Arguments, Basically the pre-death eaters, Blackmail, Borginn and Burkes, Breakfast and introduction of some future death eaters, Code: white, Comparisons drawn between Tom and a Niffler, Complete, Harry has no idea what he's in for, Harry meets Nagini, Knights of Walpurgis, Knockturn Alley, M/M, Nightmare, Patronus charms, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Reference to the Deathly Hallows, Series Code: Blue, Shorter chapter than usual sorry, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin's Locket, The items not the book just to be clear, Time Travel, Tom gets a bit of a well deserved what-for courtasy of Harry, Tom has met his match, Turns out Tom cheated in two truths and a lie, a bit more explination of the ring, bullying attempt, he has killed people, it's a continuation of the last one though, semi impromptue lessons, sort of stalkerish behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 45
Words: 171,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: “Tell me Harry, if I were to tell you that you could go back in time and prevent one event of your choice from ever occurring would you do so?”Go back in time? A chance to change the past for a better future? “If such were possible, Sir, I think it’s safe to say most people would.”“Would you be an exception?” Harry shook his head. “What would you change?”His immediate knee jerk reaction was that he’d go back to that horrible night in Godrick’s Hollow and prevent the murder of his parents, but when he opened his mouth to speak he stopped abruptly. The Head Master was staring at him from behind his half-moon glasses in a way that made him think that this question was in itself a sort of test. And with more examination the prospect seemed a bit selfish.At once Harry knew what he would do. “I would stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort.”





	1. The Forgotten Victim

**Author's Note:**

> Though this is far from the first fanfiction I've ever written it's the first one for this fandom. I only recently discovered this pairing but I really like it so I figured why not try doing one myself.  
> Keep in mind I have a lot of other fics and am currently in college with finals rapidly approaching so I can't promise regular updates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, the piece of fanart at the beginning is by Cians-Sacred-Lair on deviant art; it was inspired by a number of tomarry fics and one of them was Fox and Stag. I wanted to throw it up here as a bit of a thank you and so that everyone could see it.

Breathless.

           That was how emerging from the ornate stone bowl of the pensive, from the cold liquid surface of the memories which it contained, always made him feel. By this point Harry had lost track of all the times he’d used the thing, but each and every time the end results were always the same.

             It was late on the night of the first day of his 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the windows surrounding him were filled with fluid blackness. Harry found himself once again standing amidst the relative clutter of the Head Master’s office, Dumbledore beside him, after having just bared witness to a rather disconcerting first-meeting between the now ancient man and the child who would grow to be the monster the world now knew as Voldemort.

            Tom Riddle had looked disturbingly human, back then. A boy who had, perhaps, never known even the most basic of simple kindnesses and despite the cold front which he presented was truly in genuine pain. Far too proud to seek for the help that wasn’t there to begin with.

           “If I may ask, Sir,” Harry finally piped up after successfully having grounded himself back in the present, “why did you show me that memory in particular? What does it have to do with anything?”

          “That will be explained in a moment, Harry.” He assured him, sweeping regally across the room to resume his place behind the heavy desk. “But first, before I explain any further, I must ask of you a question. I ask that you answer it with all the honesty that you are able.”

           “Of course.”

          “Tell me Harry, if I were to tell you that you could go back in time and prevent one event of your choice from ever occurring, would you do so?”

          Go back in time? A chance to change the past for a better future? “If such were possible, Sir, I think it’s safe to say most people would.”

         “Would you be an exception?” Harry shook his head. “What would you change?”

         His immediate knee jerk reaction was that he’d go back to that horrible night in Godrick’s Hollow and prevent the murder of his parents, but when he opened his mouth to speak he stopped abruptly. The Head Master was staring at him from behind his half-moon glasses in a way that made him think that this question was in itself a sort of test. And with more examination the prospect seemed a bit selfish.

         At once Harry knew what he would do. “I would stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort.”

        “And how would you go about doing that, Harry? Would you kill him?”

        There was no accusation behind the words, but no curiosity either. They were merely blank. “Kill him?” the idea was repugnant, even knowing what the man had done. He couldn’t imagine doing it. Not after having seen the haunted look in the eyes of the orphan boy who'd been sitting on the little metal cot in that long ago memory. “No. I wouldn’t kill him. But I’d do all in my power to save him from himself.”

        That had to be the most dangerous question he’d ever been asked in his entire life but he’d seemed to have gotten it right. Dumbledore smiled.

       “I’m sure that you’ve suspected this in some capacity, even if you were never directly told. You, Harry, and the boy who became Lord Voldemort are very much the same. Were it not for your compassion, your ability to love, and your ability to accept that there are in fact some things worse than death-such as not knowing love or basic kindness-I rather think you might well have become a carbon copy of the shell that is the most powerful dark wizard this world has ever known.” He said slowly. “The Dark Lord has done many atrocious things, horrible horrible unforgiveable things, but people have forgotten-as people often do when confronted with those who do evil-that his first victim, and I believe the one who has suffered most at his hands, is Voldemort himself. Or rather the man he could have been had he not strayed down so dark a path as he did.”

      “Why are you telling me this, sir? Is it so that I can better know my enemy, or…”

      “To know your enemy is most wise indeed, Harry. But no. That is not why I am telling you this.” Dumbledore reached into one of the desk’s many draws and drew out a square shaped object, resting it gently atop the imposing piece of furniture for him to see. The leather bound diary he’d stabbed with the basilisk fang while in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year. “I had suspected for some time that such Dark Magic was what we were dealing with when it came to Voldemort, but not until you brought me this did I know for sure that my fears were justified. And where I suspect, from your description of the projection of him that it showed you, that this was his first it was far from his last. In fact, I have good reason to believe there are seven of them in total.”

      “Seven of what, Sir?”

      “Horcruxes, Harry.” The Head Master replied grimly. “The only Dark Art which is truly and inherently evil in that its creation can only be achieved by purely selfish motives. To murder is to maim the soul, my dear boy, and to create a Horcrux is to remove the splintered portion from yourself and anchor it to another object or living being so that you cannot truly die. What Voldemort feared above all else was death, and so he went to impossible lengths to ensure his ability to evade its clutches. Destroying his humanity in the process.”

     “Is that why…he looks the way he does, Sir?” Dumbledore nodded. “As long as he has these Horcruxes he can’t die?” Another nod. “So we’re going to have to destroy all of them?”

     “We are.”

     “And how many are left? Six?”

     “Five.” He replied. “This diary was one. This ring,” the Head Master held up his blackened hand, showing off the ring with the split black stone, “was another. There are five more, and though I’ve managed to deduce the identity of at least two more those of the other three and the whereabouts of all of them have been quite elusive. Finding them will take years. Potentially more time than we have. Having Mr. Riddle’s assistance in matters would be invaluable.”

     “But Voldemort would never…” Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses when the context of the earlier line of questioning suddenly clicked into place. “You’re sending me back in time to bring Tom Riddle before he became Voldemort back to the present to help us hunt down his own Horcruxes?”

     “Close, Harry, but not quite. Sending you into our timeline’s past and bringing our timeline’s young Tom Riddle back with you would cause far too much of a temporal disturbance.” He said, small smile going a bit wider when Harry relaxed. “So I’ll be sending you into an alternate parallel timeline instead. Naturally you’ll have to do a bit of work with Tom before he’ll be willing to help us but I’m sure that you can manage it.”

      “Professor, what if I can’t-.”

      “No one is born truly evil, Harry, but those starved for acceptance can turn resentful in love’s absence and lash out at the world around them. Tom Riddle can still be saved, if not conventionally; as his direct foil, I’ve reason to believe you’re the only one who stands a chance at getting through to him.”

      “I’m not a hero.”

     “Perhaps not, but you are a good person Harry. You just told me that were you given the chance to go back in time you would do all in your power to save Tom from himself. You’re being given that chance now. Are you going to make good on your words, or leave a man in desperate need of his cry for help being heard to his own nonexistent mercy?”

      Harry flinched, then caught the aged Wizard in a somewhat scornful glare.

     “Don’t think you do not have a choice in matters. If you would rather do it the conventional way, we shall. Most might agree that the conventional way is far more sound, that attempting such a thing would be a gamble most unwise, and whether you agree with them or not is entirely up to you.”

      Expression vapid to hide his true emotions. Voice utterly flat and cold. Dark charcoal eyes defiant even as they barely succeeded in keeping back the ocean of pain which lurked behind.

     “How would I even get there? To that alternate timeline, I mean? And how would I get back?”

      Reaching once more into his desk Dumbledore pulled out a simple silver ring. “This is an object very similar to a portkey, only rather than transporting the user to another location it transports a user to another time or timeline.” He held it out towards him and Harry took it gingerly, looking at the ring as if it might suddenly sprout fangs or explode. “Simply put it on as you would a normal ring.” Only when Dumbledore sent an expectant look at him did he comply. “And turn it three times in the desired direction: counter-clockwise to travel backwards and clockwise to travel forwards. Not yet!”

       Harry froze with his hand half way to the ring.

      “I think it wise you take your cloak, as well as that clever map, with you.” Harry hadn’t thought of that. “Be aware that the ring has been enchanted so that it will take you to whichever room you are standing in at the time of activation so be mindful of where you activate it, especially when you return.”

      “I will Professor.”

       Harry nodded over his shoulder at the Head Master before leaving the office and rushing through the halls of the castle back up towards Gryffindor Tower to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map from his trunk. Thankfully the Dorm room was empty but for Neville who, when Harry came in, had been in the process of trimming his Mimbulus Mibletonia. He hurriedly shoved both the map and his cloak into his robes and, after grabbing Hedwig for good measure, rushed down the stairs in the hopes of leaving the common room and finding a deserted room or corridor where his sudden disappearance would go unnoticed and consequently not noticing Hermione until he’d nearly mowed her down.

       “Harry, there you are!” She said, sounding worried. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? We’ve been looking all over for you.”

       “I was with Dumbledore; he called me into his office earlier.”

       “Really?” Ron asked as he ambled over as well. “What about?”

        “I…” Harry briefly considered lying but decided against it, opting for a half-truth instead. “I’ve been given a mission of sorts. And I won’t be around for most of the year, if not all of it, it seems like.”

        “What?”

        “Blimey Harry, what sort of mission is it?”

         “Nothing like what you’re thinking, Ron. I haven’t been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix or anything like that.” He told them with a sigh, fidgeting slightly and casting a surreptitious glance towards the exit of the common room. “I’ve been asked to go looking for someone who’s in hiding from both the ministry and the death eaters because of his connection to Voldemort.”

         “And why can’t he send someone else to do it? Someone of age?” Hermione asked, her voice almost a hiss. “For God’s sake, you’re still in school Harry!”

         “He thinks that I’ll stand the best chance of finding him; has reason to believe that he’s a Parselmouth and that to have any hope of finding him it’d be necessary to question the serpents that might be helping him.” A bit of a reach but he had to think on his feet. “And he’s arranged for alternate ways to continue my schooling Hermione. I won’t fall too far behind and will still be able to take my N.E.W.T.S.”

          “But-.”

          “Really, Hermione I need to leave. A portkey has been arranged and I need to hurry before it leaves without me.”

         “Oh, Harry.” She threw her arms around him without warning, nearly knocking him over. “At least try to be careful.”

         “Yeah, mate. Don’t forget about us either; if you need help-.”

         “I’ll get into touch.” Not that that would be possible. “I’ll see both of you soon, if all goes well.”

         At least he hoped that he would.

         Not many people were still out in the halls of the castle at that time of night, so it was easy enough for him to find a secluded area. After stepping into the shadows for good measure, Harry looked down at the ring on his hands and after a moment further of reluctance turned it three times in the counter-clockwise direction. The hallway he was standing in blurred and tilted and Harry felt as if he were falling; he squeezed his eyes shut swiftly to stop himself from becoming sick and when he opened them again he was standing in the same hallway in 1942.

          There was some discrepancy in the exact time between this timeline and his own, he noticed swiftly, as rather than the darkness of night faint late evening sunlight was streaming through the window above him. Hedwig hooted rather indignantly from within her brass cage and Harry looked down at her apologetically, but before he could speak an aged man rounded the corner looking rather cross.

          “Oh, there you are Mr. Potter! I do believe I told you not to leave my office before the Sorting had taken place!”

          Leave his office? Sorting? Apparently there had been more enchantments placed upon the ring than Dumbledore had told him, though looking back on it-or was it forwards, or perhaps horizontally?-he really ought to have expected that the cunning wizard wouldn’t have sent him in blind without even the barest trace of a story to disguise him. Not when he’d be facing off with not only a younger version Voldemort but a younger version of Dumbledore as well.

         “I…uh…apologize Professor. I was curious and must have gotten lost.” He managed to croak passed his surprise as the man all but frog marched him down the stairs and towards the Great Hall.

          “Precisely why I told you not to wander; once you’re Sorted and settled into a House one of the Prefects will be assigned to assisting you in getting the hang of the layout of our noble school, but until then cooperation would be appreciated. I’d rather not have to explain to anyone exactly how it was that on his first day here the exchange student went missing after straying into a vanishing cabinet!”

         “Right. Sorry, Professor.” Harry didn’t have the slightest clue who the man was but could hazard a guess, due to his resemblance to one of the many portraits in Dumbledore’s office, he was the current Head Master Armando Dippet.

            He found himself deposited outside the doors of the Great Hall by the aged man and told to stay put until his name was called. Nodding mutely, Harry watched his guide disappear towards the staff table at the front of the room.

            He found himself relieved to see that the Great Hall at least, hadn’t changed.

            He lingered out in the hallway until after all of the first years had been Sorted, and only then was he called to the front of the hall and introduced.

             Despite being in an entirely different time neither the stool nor the hat had changed.

 _Interesting._ It murmured in his ear. _Very interesting indeed. You’ve done much, for one so young. Rather brave of you, seeking to alter time to save another when they’ve cause you so much pain._ When Harry stiffened the Hat laughed. _Yes, boy. Don’t think I don’t know. I know everything about you just by being put on: how did you expect I Sorted students. I know which House I tried to put you in and I know which House you asked for. So allow me both to lend your pursuits a helping hand-though I have none-and do my job properly this time around eh?_ “SLYTHERIN!”

              Even knowing Slytherin was the best of the four Houses for the success of his ultimate goal for being there at all he couldn’t help but be minorly appalled. The hat was tugged off his head as he rose from the stool, making his way to the green and silver draped table amidst a storm of cheers and applause and seating himself on the furthest end of the table. Hoping that no one would bother approaching him until at least after dinner.

              Such hopes were dashed as he reached for a plate of steak and kidney pie when, with a graceful flourish of their robes, someone descended lightly onto the bench beside him. They did not immediately ask him questions but turned to stare at him instead; out of the corner of his eyes all he could make out of them was their figure-male and with their head cocked curiously to one side-and so decided to ignore them in favor of his food.

              The staring didn’t stop, nor did the silence between them break, and if anything that got to him more than attempts to speak would have. So after desert had appeared and he could take it no longer Harry turned to face the perpetrator of the unwanted intrusion only to very nearly choke on a mouthful of treacle tart.

               A pair of intense eyes-not black, like he’d always thought up until then but rather a deep shade of indigo blue-bore into him mercilessly from a too-handsome face which he instantly recognized. The entirety of the rest of the Slytherin table was silent as well-how he hadn’t noticed until now was a mystery to him-watching the dark haired boy watch him with what almost amounted to fear. As if expecting the other to explode at any moment like some sort of living bomb.

                Noticing that he at last had Harry’s full attention the youth’s face broke into what was clearly meant to be a disarming smile, pale lips parting to reveal perfectly straight perfectly white teeth. “I apologize if I’m intruding, but even when one finds themselves in an unfamiliar place they shouldn’t have to sit alone. I thought I’d save you from looking ever so lonely.” In a perfectly controlled fluid motion he brought up his hand and extended it across what little space remained between them. “Tom Riddle. I’ll be your guide; it will be my responsibility to ensure that you learn your way around the building and feel at home here in Hogwarts.”

                “But how can you be sure that you’ll be the Prefect assigned to assist me?” though that would be the most advantageous for his mission, Harry wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be stuck with him constantly. “Isn’t there more than one of them?”

                “There are six Prefects to each House, yes. But you can rest assured that I’ll be the one to show you around.”

                “And why is that?” even now and with such a simple thing he couldn’t resist challenging him.

                “Because I want to. And one thing you can always be sure of, Harry Potter, is that I _always_ get what I want.”

                And like that Tom rose from the table and swept out of the Great Hall amidst the crush of other students, vanishing around the corner of the open doors no doubt to wait for him out of sight. Harry sat there, dumbstruck, for a while before finally getting up to move.

                It hadn’t been hatred shinning in those indigo eyes, but something else entirely. And if anything that knowledge frightened him even more.


	2. Viper's Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am using Dragon, which I recently acquired, to write this and though it's more than passably accurate I don't entirely know how to work it correctly and some of the words don't quite come out like they're meant to. I have checked over it but I may not have caught everything so if there are still mistakes please let me know so I can fix them.

As he suspected the Slytherin Prefect was awaiting him just outside the rectangle of light still emanating from the Great Hall. A Hellenistic statue of a Pagan God carved from Ivory flesh and robed in silken darkness, his smile a glittering bandit’s blade and the Prefect’s badge glinting against his breast like an emerald. Through the gloom he couldn’t clearly pick out any of his features.

                “Follow me, Harry.” He purred, sounding very much like the cat that got the canary. “The entrance to the Slytherin common room is located in the dungeons of the school; the common room itself spans below the Black Lake.”

                The tales of his robes billowed out grandly behind him as he turned and began walking. Flowing. Majestic. And reminding him absurdly of Snape. The gate of Voldemort-no, not Voldemort quite yet but certainly the man who would one day bloom into the most powerful Dark Wizard that the world had ever known if Harry failed to turn him from his current path-was graceful. Lithe. More of a glide than a walk, really. Each and every motion of his body, from the set of his shoulders to the angle at which his heels met with the floor, was like the handshake he had delivered in the Great Hall. Carefully controlled.

                There wasn’t so much as the smallest involuntary twitch out of place with Tom Riddle.

                “How long ago did you arrive here?”

                 It took a moment to register that he was speaking and that the question had been aimed casually at him over his right shoulder. Dark eyes glinting coldly in the dimness with a serpentine attention. His voice was a rich cultured baritone, silken smooth and far stronger than that of the echo conjured forth from the diary which had possessed Ginny during his second year. Warm, if noticeably honeyed in a way that made him wary, and pleasant to listen to. Nothing at all like the sibilant stringent rasps, like shards of Arctic glass, with which the Dark Lord spoke back in Harry’s own time.

                If anything, the combination of cherubic looks and siren tones made the Tom Riddle of yore thousands of times more dangerous than the gaunt osseous shade that was Lord Voldemort. Though Harry had never been one to claim to understand the Dark Lord, or even merely to claim to want to, he simply couldn’t fathom why his arch nemesis would’ve ever thrown such a weapon aside for skin like death and eyes like blood.

                 “Maybe an hour before the feast,” he lied. “I’m not really sure.”

                “Where are you from: did you travel far?”

                “London,” true enough. “I was homeschooled until this year-took my O.W.L.s at the ministry but my guardians thought that I should take my N.E.W.T.s in a proper academic environment. The travel wasn’t far, but it still wasn’t pleasant.”

                “It rarely is.” They turned a corner and descended a set of curving stone stairs. “Watch the stairs, they’re rather slick.”

                  As if on cue his right foot slipped out from beneath him and, had it not been for Tom’s quick powerful grip on his forearm hauling him upright, he’d have gone tumbling down them headfirst.

                 Unabashed by his conversation partner’s near brush with death and himself still somehow impossibly surefooted, the Slytherin Prefect continued “you’re tired, I'd assume?”

                 Harry nodded, for once his response entirely truthful. “It’s been a long day, Tom.”

                 “I’ll keep the introductions brief then.” He promised, coming to a stop before a solid stone wall. This, too, Harry recognized from his second year. “Magic is Might.”

                 The brick slid smoothly aside, giving way to an arching passageway into the common room beyond.

                 “Welcome to Slytherin, Harry Potter.” He couldn’t help but notice how almost unnaturally human Tom’s large warm hands felt as they steered him forwards by the shoulders. “Welcome home.”

                 The Slytherin common room was just as he remembered it being from his stint playing Goyle under the effects of illegally brewed Polyjuice Potion. The same snake picture and strange assortment of animal skulls adorning the mantle of the hearth. The same Victorian-style silver gilded furniture. The same green stained-glass windows looking out into the depths of the Black Lake.

                  Tom didn’t stop steering him until they reach the very center of the common room. The eyes of everyone present, what looked to him to be the entirety of the House including all of the new first years who must’ve been escorted there by the other Prefects, turned on him almost instantaneously. Almost as if he were one of Fred and George’s bright pink Catherine wheels rather than the ‘transfer student’.

                   He was suddenly almost mind-numbingly aware of the still present weight of Tom’s hands resting quite possessively upon his shoulders. Long graceful pianist’s fingers kneading gently into the flesh just above the sweeping curve of his collarbone. Utter silence, pregnant with an obvious nervous tension, descended on the room at large as all present waited for the Dark Lord-to-be to speak on the matter of the oddity among them that was Harry James Potter.

                  “As all of you who were present at tonight’s commencement feast know, this is Harry Potter.” He informed them calmly. Out of the corner of his eye he could clearly see their reflections in the dark emerald glass. Tom, blatantly smirking now, stood so close behind him that his chest nearly pressed into the smaller raven’s back. So close he could feel the disturbingly human warmth radiating from his body. So close that he could smell him: pepper, cinnamon and dark earth fresh after rain.

                   Frankly, it was quite bizarre.

                  “I expect I make myself clear when I request,” the way in which he said it made it seem much more like a demand, “that all of you treat him with the utmost respect and civility. He is, after all, one of the family.”

                   Dark eyes scanned the gathered onlookers, at once congenial and dangerous.

                   “But it’s been a full day for him already and as much as he’d like to stay and chat with the lot of you he will be retiring early tonight. Classes begin tomorrow, after all, and none of us want to lose our noble House any points.”

                   A grumble of half dazed dissent filtered through the ranks of the gathered Slytherins and, like the Red Sea before Moses, they parted to allow the pair entry onto the staircase which led up to the dorms.

                   Not having seen the dorm rooms of any of the other Houses before he was mildly surprised to find that, aside from the color of the sheets and drapery and the view which lay outside the windows, those belonging to Slytherin were a near exact replica of that of Gryffindor.

                   The only unclaimed bed was the one closest to the doorway in which they now stood, closeted off to one corner and flush against the wall. He went to move towards it and set down what few belongings he had brought with him, but Tom’s grip tightened, stopping him cold.

                   “No, Harry. Your bed will be over here, right next to mine.” As if to accentuate the point the taller boy released him at last in order to collapse with all the grace of a jungle cat onto the four-poster bed. “That way, should you ever need anything-from directions to a class to help with homework-I’m close at hand.”

                    In order to befriend Tom Riddle, sway him from the road which led to Voldemort, and ultimately take him back to his own timeline as a cog in his Headmaster’s newest crazy and as of yet not entirely revealed plan he was well aware of the fact that he had to get close to the youth who would become the man who killed his parents and gave him the scar on his forehead. But sleeping every night for at least four months with him not three feet away, not to mention in the perfect position to _watch him sleep_ , was not an integral part of that bargain.

                  Luckily for him fate had provided him with a legitimate excuse to avoid having to do so.

                  “But that bed’s already taken.”

                  Clearly, Tom was having none of it. He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him in mock innocent confusion. “Taken?” Out came the bone white yew wand which had haunted his dreams for two years; a casual flick of his long thin wrist and the occupant’s trunk went zooming across the room. “Whatever do you mean? There’s no trunk at the foot of that bed.”

                  A control freak even then. Harry suppose that he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering whom it was that he was dealing with. Resigned to his new sleeping arrangements he cautiously lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, removed his wand from his back pocket and placed it on the bedside table. Tom was upright in an instant, gaze fixated on this new item of interest through which he could rip secrets free of him.

                   “You can tell a lot about a wizard from their wand.” He reached out a hand towards the other’s wand, stopping only just short of touching it. “Do you mind?”

                   He doubted it would stop him, even if he did mind. “No. Not at all.”

                   With painful delicacy, as if you are handling something as easily breakable as a hollow Robin’s egg, Tom picked up Harry’s wand from the bedside table and examined it closely. Running the tips of calloused fingers over the grain of the wood.

                    “Holly?” Tom smirked at him when Harry nodded. “Impetuous, are we? Quick to anger, perhaps?” The raven shrugged. “Tell me, Harry Potter, what manner of dangerous spiritual quest are you on that you'd be chosen by a Holly wand?”

                     Again Harry shrugged. “None that I know of, Tom. At least not in the current moment of time.”

                     “And the core?”

                     He looked up sharply. “What?”

                     “The core. Of your wand.” Tom repeated calmly. “You don’t strike me as a wielder of Unicorn Hair. So I’d have to guess Dra-.”

                     “Phoenix Feather.” He cut him off. “The core of my wand is Phoenix Feather.”

                     “Is it?” It was hard to tell in the dim light of the dorm room and against the already dark iris of his eyes but it looked to him as if Tom’s pupils had dilated. “That’s interesting. _Very_ interesting.” With a sudden movement that was near enough to make him jump the dark-haired brunet held his own wand out for him to take. For a moment Harry hesitated before reaching out and taking it.

                      The carved handle was cold and glossy. As smooth as a river worn stone against his palm.

                      “Yew wood. Like Holly it is one of the rarer kinds of wand wood. And one of the most powerful. A flair for curses. A symbol of death, as Holly is of life. Connected, some believe, with evil. Of course,” Tom snorted derisively, “anyone with any sense is well aware that there is no such thing as ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Only power.”

                      Harry shuddered.

                     “Can you guess the core?”

                      His mouth was suddenly very dry, but he managed to croak out “Phoenix.”

                      That blade curve grin was back again. Slithering across his handsome features like a serpent. “It is. As a matter of fact I was informed by the maker of my wand that the Phoenix from whom the feather came also gave one other. A feather which went into a Holly wand. Of which there are only very few.”

                     “You think-?”

                     “I do.”

                     He was right, of course, but he wasn’t about to tell him as much.

                     “We have a bond, Harry.”

                      He had _no_ idea.

                     “Stick with me. We’ll make great partners, and together will make the whole world tremble.”

                      Not if he could help it.

                     “Think of it, Harry. Within 10 years you and I will have the entire world at our feet.”

                     The future he imagined was very different.


	3. Prefect's Pet Part 1

 

                “It would be best that you wake up now, Harry, if you plan on eating breakfast.”

                A warm gentle hand shaking his shoulder slowly coaxed him back to consciousness and when Harry opened his eyes it was to find Tom leaning over him. In the odd brackish light of day which spilled in through the dormitory’s windows the Slytherin Prefect was already fully dressed and ready for the day, black robe smooth of all wrinkles and emerald lapels folded back over his chest once more decorated by that jewel-like badge. This was the first time that Harry had given himself any real leeway in which to examine the young man who would one day become Lord Voldemort. Even the night before while in the Great Hall he’d been too busy ignoring him, and then too surprised when he finally had looked, to properly take in the creature before him.

The echo from the Chamber of Secrets was truly put to shame by the intensity that was Tom Marvolo Riddle. Even being near him when he was calm and relaxed as he was now-King of his domain-was like being next to a building strike of lightning. The aura of sheer power, currently kept under strict control, was enough to make his skin flush with gooseflesh and though it was nowhere near as turgid and dark as it had been in the graveyard it wasn’t quite pure either. His dark eyes, just as they had the night before, devoured him as he slowly sat up in his bed. His short wavy hair-the glossy deep brown of a Brazil nut shell-was kept carefully and exactly in place.

He was the stark opposite of him, all wrinkled barely fitting clothes and disheveled untamable hair.

“Breakfast,” Harry said thickly, still mostly asleep. “Right. Breakfast.” He rose from his bed and abruptly froze, staring in surprise at the trunk which had appeared overnight.

Tom, who had gone back to rummage briefly for something within the confines of his own trunk, looked up at him in confusion at his involuntary intake of breath. “What’s wrong? Never seen a trunk before; can’t imagine how that would be when you clearly must have brought it with you from your home.”

There was a slight trace of bitterness in the way that he said _your home_.

“Yeah,” he amended quickly, “yeah I did.” The contents of the trunk were an exact replica of his own in his own time, right down to the layer of wrappers sweets and old underwear littering the bottom. His robes-the crimson lapels of Gryffindor replaced by Slytherin emerald-his quills and ink, his coin purse and his books. Charms. Care of Magical Creatures. Transfiguration. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potions?

Right, Severus Snape couldn’t possibly be the Potion’s Master in 1942.

“Hey, Tom.” The dark brunet’s head immediately snapped around to look at him. “Who’s the Potion’s Master here at Hogwarts?”

“The Potion’s Master? That would be our Head of House: Horace Slughorn. An… amicable enough man.” He said. “Why?”

“My Potion’s teacher refused to continue to teach me unless I got in O in the class. I only got-.”

“A T?”

Harry threw his pillow at him; Tom, laughing like a hyena, held up an arm to fend off the feather-filled projectile.

“I got an E, you Pratt!” He snapped. “What did you get?”

“An O. All Os, actually.” Tom grinned like the Cheshire Cat and tossed the pillow back to him. “I do have an image to keep up, after all.”

“Of course you do.” He grumbled, pulling his robes over his shoulders. Forgoing even so much as attempting to tame his hair Harry simply ran a hand through it. “You sound like Hermione.”

“Who’s Hermione?” He took a slight and almost threatening step forwards. “Girlfriend?”

“Girl friend, yes. But not my _girlfriend_ ; as a matter of fact I don’t even have a girlfriend at all.”

“Mmh.” The other put forth helpfully. “Why not? I can’t imagine you’d have over much trouble, what with those eyes of yours.” His own had once more darkened to black. “Sweet Salazar, so _very_ vibrant!”

“My-?” It clicked quite suddenly and, against his own best efforts, he felt himself beginning to color. Voice jumping upwards half an octave in surprise. “A- Are you flirting with me, Tom?”

How had things escalated so quickly?

The much taller young man was prowling towards him. Closing the small distance between them with only a single fluid stride. “What would you do if I were to tell you that I was?”

He was-? But he-? Why would-? _Why was Tom leaning towards him?_

“I-I-?” In absolute confusion his mind went utterly blank: his eyes focused in on the pair of lush pale lips which were Rapidly. Coming. Closer.

“Oi, if you two aren’t going to kiss come to breakfast!”

Tom straightened up instantly and whirled around, pupils contracting to very near slits in a dangerous glare. “ _Avery_!!!” Something hard and likely made of glass-if Harry had to guess he would say it was an inkwell-went flying across the room and exploded against the opposite wall in a massive splatter of black.

“Watch your temper, Riddle!” Cackling wildly, Avery-having not managed to catch a good enough look at him Harry couldn’t be sure if he was the same Avery from his time our a predecessor-dove down the stairs and out of sight.

Tom growled, reaching up to run a hand swiftly through his hair. “Git.” He hissed.

Still entirely confused over what may have just almost happened Harry, semi-dazed, found himself very much happy that Avery had come in when he had as the brunette was now forced to busy himself with vanishing the ink from the wall.

After the last bit of ink had disappeared from the wall Tom turned to glance back at him over his shoulder. “Ready to go, Harry?”

Harry nodded silently at him, still not entirely trusting himself to speak after his near brush with…with what, exactly? A kiss? A cruel trick was much more likely, considering who it was. Tom kept careful pace with him as they left the Slytherin common rooms and surfaced from the Dungeons of the Castle before making their way to the Great Hall.

It was still just as Harry remembered it being; crowded, bright and raucously loud. The green and silver table was already nearly filled to bursting and creaking underneath the weight of all the copious amounts of food crafted by the House Elves in the kitchens. A pair of girls were laughing loudly and aiming sharp elbows into each other’s ribs. At the end of the table closest to the doors a group of third years had started a food fight. A delicate touch of Tom’s hand on his wrist led him to the far end of the table and, quite abruptly, pulled him down onto the bench to his left side.

“Eat.” He commanded, grabbing a bit of everything around them and piling it high onto the plate in front of Harry. “You’re thin.”

No detail would ever be allowed to escape Tom Riddle.

Pumpkin juice nearly sloshed on the tabletop beside him when the newly filled cup was set down with a decisive thump.

“Fancy the new fish, Tom?” A ferret-faced man with black hair snickered from across the table and to the left of them.

“I fancy power, as you know, and at least so far as I am concerned am a capable judge of those who are truly capable of producing it and those who simply,” his gaze rested on him with pointed leadenness “aren’t, Lestrange.”

Two other boys snickered.

“Mulciber, Nott, be quiet!” The pair jumped in their seats as if burned and fell silent with such stark immediacy that it almost seemed as if a Silencing Jinx had been cast upon them. “Where is Avery today?”

“Probably off somewhere on the other end of the table with that seventh year girlfriend of his.”

“You’re sure, Rosier?”

The other shrugged his shoulders. “Sure enough.” He grunted. “Why?”

“Because he needs to be made well aware of the fact that I do _not_ appreciate this morning’s…” His eyes briefly flicked to Harry who had buried himself in his scrambled eggs, “interruption.”

The raven inhaled his eggs in surprise and immediately began to choke. Tom didn’t miss a beat or even so much as hesitate to thump him on the back, saving him from suffocating but sending his glasses flying into a nearby bowl of porridge in the process. The dark brunet sighed, shook his head and plucked the visual aid from the pale gray sludge before Harry could fully grasp what had happened. Shaking out a napkin with a swift flick of the wrist he cleaned the lenses before replacing them on his face with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“You’re a mess.” He chided with a cluck of his tongue.

“Real mother hen, this one.”

“All the blood heading southward affecting your ability to think, Riddle?”

“I thought that I warned the lot of you to _bite your tongue!_ ” He snarled, instantly silencing them once again. “Oh, look. Here comes Professor Slughorn with the schedules now.”

The man called Professor Slughorn was preceded by his impressive girth, the buttons down the front of the waistcoat he wore threatening to burst off and go flying-like deadly projectiles-across the room. His hair was short, just beginning to thin and straw blonde. A gingery-blonde walrus mustache rested on his upper lip below a pair of watery gooseberry eyes.

“Ho-Ho, Tom! Truly a man of your word, taking the new student under your wing so completely. Inviting him into your exclusive crowd.”

“What can I say Professor, he is a dove amongst ravens.”

“You and your quoting of Shakespeare!” He chuckled.

Tom smiled. “He was a half-blood. And though predominantly aimed at Muggles I consider the content of his plays worth reading. At least for leisure entertainment.” Once more that hand was on his shoulder. “This, Professor, as I’m sure you know is Harry Potter. He’ll be in your class, despite ‘only getting an E on his O.W.Ls’; with how nervous he was acting I guessed that he got a T and he called me a Pratt because of it.”

“Ho-ho!” The Professor laughed again, his large belly jiggling with the motion. “He has fire, this one. I can clearly see why you like him.” Handing them each a schedule he said “I look forward to seeing you in my classroom, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you Sir.”

As Slughorn walked away, Tom leaned over to peer at the paper in his hands. Glancing swiftly between Harry’s schedule and his own. “Looks like every class you have we have together, aside from Charms. And you have a free period during my Arithmancy class.”

“And where will you be while I’m in Charms?”

“Muggle Studies.” The grin which spread across his face at the raven’s look of shocked surprise was wolfish and feral. He leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing the shell of his ear when he spoke, hot breath raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. “Knowing your enemy, knowing what they’ve done to your predecessors and would do to you, makes it so much easier to do what you have to when the time comes. About Muggles, at least, if not more Gellert Grindlewald is _right_.”

Harry barely managed to suppress a shudder at the sultry tone; for some reason that still escaped him the Dark-Lord-to-be had turned up his charm to full blast. _No. No, don’t let him fool you. Don’t listen to him. You came here to change him not for him to change you!_

He could only imagine that returning with not only a still Dark Tom Riddle but as he himself a convert to the Death Eaters would not go over well. Not to mention that he had no doubt it would cause the breakout of a three-sided war as not only would they be fighting the Order of the Phoenix but Voldemort as well as Harry highly doubted Tom would simply stand for his future-self ruling the Wizarding World.

Because that Voldemort wasn’t him, really.

Perhaps this matter was more convoluted than he had bargained for.

Tom rose from the bench and straightened his robes. “Well, we should be going. We have Transfiguration,” the sneer in his voice was audible, “in 10 minutes. Professor Dumbledore,” again with that strained over-politeness reserved for those he didn’t like, “doesn’t much appreciate students who tarry.”

“Tarry, he says.”

“Oh yes, best not to tarry.”

The pair of snickering boys bolted before Tom had a chance to grab them.

“Are you really going to let them run off?”

“I am. I’ll get them back tonight in the common room, provided I remember.”

“You’ll remember.”

Tom smiled, and though outwardly pleasant evident malice simmered just beneath. “Yes,” he said, “I’ll remember.”

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to feel the least bit sorry for those in the way of the building storm that was the brooding brunet currently sweeping through the halls before him with sure strides of long legs.

The Transfiguration room looked only marginally different in 1942 that it did 50 years in the future under Professor McGonagall. The most astoundingly contrasting thing in the room was Professor Dumbledore.

As he had been in the memories Harry had seen in the pensive the younger Dumbledore had a considerable degree more hair than his present self all of which was the same ginger color as Crookshanks’ fur. Harry couldn’t quite manage to suppress a snicker. Tom looked over at him and raised an eyebrow as they took their seats at the table near the front-left side of the room.

“What?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that his hair is the same color as Hermione’s cat.”

Tom’s laughter was purposely loud so as to draw the attention of his least favorite Professor.

“Something funny, Mr. Riddle?” Dumbledore asked, though his curiosity was edged with something else.

“Nothing, Professor. Harry was telling me about his friend’s cat is all: hardly of any importance to be informing the whole class.”

“Oh, yes we’ve a new student to our school.” The crescent-moon glasses and knowing blue eyes were still very much the same. “How did you do in your Transfiguration O.W.L.s, might I ask?”

Harry shrugged. “Well enough, Sir.”

“Good. Good. I’d like to speak with you a moment after class today, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Had he done something wrong without realizing it? Harry didn’t think so. “Of course.”

“Never you worry Mr. Potter. It won’t take long.”

As Dumbledore turned and walked away back to the front of the room Tom made a face and muttered “Twat.”

“You have a problem with Professor Dumbledore, Tom?” Harry asked him innocently, already knowing the answer well enough.

“A problem with him? Yes, I do. He’s had it out for me since the first day we met, when he came to give me the letter inviting me to attend school here. Every other teacher sees me as an angel among men-why wouldn’t they, I’m a genius and the Heir of one of the most prodigious bloodlines to ever have existed-but he disagrees.”

And there was the paranoia he been warned about. And the overinflated ego.

“Why would he have it out for you?”

“Because I’m like him. And because I know what he really is.”

“What he really is?”

“A manipulator; someone capable of pulling strings to make others do as they please without them realizing it.” Tom hissed like a serpent, dark eyes fixated on the older man is he coiled down in his seat as if preparing to pounce. “Look at him, sitting up there behind that desk. Thinking himself _so_ noble!”

Dumbledore serenely ignored the mutinous glare the brunette was sending him and started class.

“As I’m sure all of you remember from your first year the school of Transfiguration magic has four subcategories of ascending difficulty.” He said. “Perhaps our new student can remind us of what those are?”

“Oh,” Harry distinctly remembered Hermione beating both him and Ron over the head with the answer to that exact question, citing the potential for it to come up on their theory O.W.L for the class. If only he could call them to mind. “Transformation, Vanishment, Conjuration, and, uh…”

“Un-transfiguration.” Tom supplied from beside him, just barely loud enough to be heard.

“And Un-transfiguration.”

“Very good, Mr. Potter. 10 points to Slytherin.” He said. “Un-transfiguration is, indeed, the most difficult of the four subcategories of Transfiguration magic but as it is your N.E.W.T year I figured that each and every one of you were up for the challenge. Ms. McGonagall,” Harry had to stop himself from whipping his head around in alarm, “please assist me in passing out these teacups.”

Blonde but no less severe than her future self, Minerva McGonagall rose from the table where she’d been sitting and began passing out the cups at an illustrious pace. Harry noticed the Prefect’s badge pinned to her robes as she set two down at their table.

What may have been cautious pity was in her eyes as she looked at him, tsking and shaking her head as she walked away again. Tom scowled.

“These are the teacups which the now-second years were able to transfigure from mice before the end of last year’s term. Your job today will be to Un-transfigure them back into mice. Begin.”

“Oh, please. At least present some sort of challenge.” A precise flick of the wand in his hand and the mouse-turned-teacup-turned-mouse made a mad dash for the edge of the table. Harry jumped in alarm when Tom’s hand came down with a loud thump, rattling his own teacup and pinning the mouse down by the tail. Using his forefinger and thumb he lifted it from the table and held the struggling creature aloft. Watching it squirm and squeak in discomfort with a disturbing level of amusement.

He opened his mouth to ask that he put the poor thing back down but before he could the mouse went flying out of Tom’s grip, across the room and into Dumbledore’s waiting hand.

“Well done, as always, Mr. Riddle. Though I must ask that, in the future, you refrain from mistreating my teacups.”

Tom folded his arms and reclined in his chair with a derisive snort. Harry turned his attention to his own cup. Well aware of the other’s eyes resting heavily on him.

After 20 minutes of struggling he managed to make at least some headway in Un-transfiguring the teacup; it now looked less like something out of which to drink and more like a concave shoe brush. He looked over in annoyance at the sound of the other’s snickers.

“We can’t all be ‘geniuses’, Tom.”

“Such visceral,” the dark brunet said with a false tone of hurt before reaching out abruptly to take his wrist. “Angle your hand more like this; it cuts down on unnecessary wand movement. Transfiguration’s more scientific than Charms, you can’t just swing your wand around like a baboon brandishing a stick.”

By the end of class his teacup still looked more like a piece of China than a rodent but it was a start.

“Potions is next.”

“I’ll catch up with you, Tom. I have to…” Harry trailed off and glanced over towards the desk behind which Dumbledore sat as the room quickly emptied out.

“Oh, right.” Tom frowned in distaste. “Well, I’ll wait for you outside. Try to hurry. The Dungeons are on the other side of the Castle after all.”

He left the room. Harry made his way hesitantly over to the desk.

“Have I done something wrong, Professor?”

“Wrong? No, no. Have a seat; I’ll try not to take up too much of your time as I’m sure that you have other classes you need to be getting to.” Harry looked around quickly and pulled up the nearest chair before sitting down as instructed. “Time. Such a fickle thing, wouldn't you agree? Very ordered. Very fragile. Quite easy to disturb. Which is why temporal magic is so closely monitored; even the slightest risk of a paradox could land the unwary in Azkaban for life.” He picked up a dish full of round yellow candies and proffered it to him. “Lemon sherbet?”

“Uh,” Harry had to take a moment to recover from the stark juxtaposition of magic which could potentially land one in prison for life and screaming yellow candies before being able to answer, “no thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore shrugged, set the bowl down with a clunk and picked one out for himself.

“I’m sure that you’re wondering why I would feel the need to speak with you about it? The simple explanation is that I recognize that ring.” He pulled a carbon copy of the ring from underneath a stack of papers and showed it to him. “I made this my seventh year, merely to see if I could, and never did get around to registering it. Though I would hope I made a few tweaks here and there before giving it to you as it’s rather rough.”

“I…uh…”

“No need to panic, Harry. I merely hope that I sent you here with good reason; be mindful not to let that ring out of your sight.”

“I will, Sir.”

“Well, I wish you luck in why you’re here and if I’m correct about your goals than you, Harry, are going to need it. Now I think you ought to be getting to your Potion’s class.”

Harry left the room, rounded the corner and ran straight into the person who’d been standing just beyond it. Not Tom, as he would’ve expected, but McGonagall.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine,” her voice was almost a snap. “I’ve been waiting for you Potter: we need to speak and there’s sure to be only a short window of time before he comes back. You need to listen to me.”

“He?”

“Tom!” She informed him crisply. “You’re new. You don’t know what he’s really like, and I’m sure that he’s done nothing but present himself as some manner of Prince Charming. That isn’t true. He’s Cruel. Vile. Manipulative. Rather much like a snake, really.” McGonagall looked around quickly as if to assure herself the subject of their conversation wasn’t lurking just out of sight in the shadows. “You need to be careful.”

He knew full well that he was all those things and more. More so than she did, at least at current. “Why?”

“Why? Because he’s _obsessed_ with you; Tom Riddle looks at you like a Niffler looks at a trinket! He’s never done that before and I can’t possibly fathom the reason that he would start now! You need to be careful-.”

“Typical goodhearted Gryffindor. Don’t you have enough Prefectural duties on your plate already, Minerva, without poaching from my House?” Tom’s smile was outwardly pleasant but his voice was glacial and his dark eyes promised pain. Harry couldn’t prevent the shudder of fear that swept through him at the sight of his expression and had to commend his future Professor for only slightly wilting before the cold front which seemed to have scoured the hall at his arrival. “Come along, Harry. We’re bordering on being late.”

“Right, Potions Class.” He glanced at her briefly and said “it was nice talking to you,” before starting to walk away.

As if to reassure himself that he’d stolen the raven away from conversing with another Tom gripped his shoulder briefly as Harry passed him by, glaring darkly at McGonagall for another moment before following doggedly on his heels.


	4. Prefect's Pet Part 2

Without his least favorite teacher to darken its doorway, the Dungeon-classroom was almost surreally light. Not that the lighting was any different than it usually was-Harry knew this-but that knowledge didn’t prevent the illusion from continuing and he couldn’t help but stare around in wide-eyed shock at the room as if he’d never seen it before. In retrospect, he supposed that such a response was well in line with his ‘exchange student’ persona.

                Tom, shadowing him as always, looked almost vindictively amused by his reaction.

                Professor Slughorn stood waiting for them all with a congenial smile on his mustached face, patiently bidding his time until everyone had filtered in and taken a seat. Unlike the prior class, where Tom had sat as far from their Professor as possible without having to risk admitting some manner of defeat, the dark brunet led him over to a table at the very front of the room. Directly in front of the bench atop which three cauldrons-two large and one small-simmered.

                Only when the door swung shut for a final time did the Professor finally begin to speak.

                “Good afternoon, all of you. I hope that the past summer hasn’t caused too much knowledge to slide out of your heads. It is your N.E.W.T year, after all.” He chuckled. “Especially you, Mr. Riddle. I expect my favorite student to excel, as always.”

                Tom offered a small nod and an ingratiating smile. “Of course, Professor. I would never do anything to reflect poorly upon you or the noble House of Slytherin.”

                _If not a Dark Lord, perhaps he’ll turn out to be a Politician._ In all honesty Harry didn’t know which was scarier.

                “And Mr. Potter, too! I’ve been waiting all day with such eager anticipation for the chance to see Hogwarts’ newest student at work.”

                “But it’s only second period, Professor.” It slipped out before Harry could even attempt to prevent it. Tom raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. Slughorn bellowed out another laugh that made his belly jiggle.

                “That it is, my dear boy. That it is. Tremendous observational skills. 10 points to Slytherin!”

                Tom let out a small snort, shook his head and leaned down to speak in Harry’s ear. “You’re good. Though I could still stand to teach you a few things.”

                Slughorn had repositioned himself behind the bench of cauldrons-a considerable feat, given his spherical shape-and with a grandiose gesture motioned to the nearest bubbling cauldron.

                “With it being such an important year I took the initiative to brew three particularly difficult and interesting potions to show all of you as a sort of demonstration. This one,” again he pointed to the nearest cauldron to emphasize his point, “is a particularly nasty one, really. Can anyone here tell me what it is?”

                The potion in the cauldron looked, to Harry, to be little more than boiling water. Tom made a show of waiting until it was clear no one else would move to answer before raising his hand.

                “Yes, Tom?”

                “That, Professor, is the Draught of Living Death. A powerful sleeping draught which induces a death-like state of suspended animation in the drinker, hence the name. Likely brewed masterfully, might I add, considering it was made by someone as talented as you.”

                “No need for flattery, Tom. You make an old man blush, though you’re absolutely right. It is, indeed, the Draught of Living Death. A dangerous potion, though not the most dangerous of the three I have with me today.” He said. “No. That title belongs to this next potion.”

                He removed the lid which had been sitting atop the second cauldron, unleashing a silvery spiral of steam to curl up towards the ceiling. Immediately a pleasant smell washed over him. Treacle tart. The polished wood of a broomstick handle. Cinnamon and dark earth.

                Tom hissed viciously and recoiled like a snake that had been stepped on.

                “Do you recognize this one as well, Tom?”

                “Amortentia!” Not the usual silken honey-sweet drawl but a biting almost accusatory snarl. Harry looked from the other male’s obvious fury to the mother-of-pearl potion and back again but had no time to further process the implication of why such a violent and bitter reaction might be brought about by a seemingly innocent potion as Slughorn had begun to speak again.

                “Right again!” Though he sounded smug rather than surprised. “Amortentia, Bottled Love. The strongest love potion in the world. Difficult to brew. Expensive to mess up, as some of its ingredients are quite rare. Identifiable by its distinctive curling smoke and mother-of-pearl sheen, Amortentia’s scent changes from individual to individual according to what attracts them. Care to share, Tom?”

                “I’ve no desire to bother with such a stupid thing!”

                A number of girls in the room looked over at him in alarmed indignation but Slughorn-seemingly unbothered by the uncharacteristic disrespect-simply nodded wisely.

                “A smart stance to take, dear boy. A love potion, no matter how powerful, can only mimic love not create it. It can fool the brain, but the Heart is not so easily tricked. Never mind its potential for harm.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Not only is it unfair to the one unknowingly put under its sway, but should a child be conceived during that time-especially if it is Amorentia that was used-they’re theorized to be born without the instinctual knowledge of how to feel love. They can be taught, of course, as nothing human is ever utterly incapable of it, but the process would be a long and arduous one. One which must be undertaken willingly, as it requires deep self-reflection and an openness to change. To put what I am attempting to say simply,” his gooseberry eyes swiftly scanned the room, “I don’t want any of you getting any ideas.”

The lid was placed back on the cauldron with a clank and the alluring smell slowly began to dissipate. Tom did not relax his almost feral posture. Defensively curled in on himself. Shaking lightly, though from rage or something else he couldn’t be sure.

“And this one? Do you recognize this one, Tom?”

But the Slytherin Prefect was either unable or unwilling to answer.

The potion in the smallest cauldron was a vibrant molten gold, small droplets leaping out of it in arcing trails like tiny living fish. To Harry’s surprise, he recognized it if only by description: Hermoine had lectured him and Ron on it after discovering the potion amidst one of her many over-complicated texts.

“Felix Felicis.”

“Very good, Mr. Potter! Very good!” The Professor actually sounded rather surprised that it hadn’t been his star student who had answered. That someone else in the class knew or, at least, would dare to answer instead of Hogwarts’ ruthless uncrowned king. “Can you also tell me what it is?”

“Liquid Luck.” Normally he wouldn’t have remembered as much as he did of what Hermoine had said, but for once the language hadn’t been overly technical and he had to admit-the potion’s affects had been rather interesting. “It’s a luck potion.”

“Precisely! Devilishly difficult to brew. Disastrous to get wrong. But if done right, a bottle of this will grant you a perfect day.  I myself have used it twice in my life. Two bottles. Two perfect days.” After a moment spent apparently lost in nostalgia, he asked “can you tell me, Mr. Potter, why I dare not take anymore?”

Harry was all too prepared to put forth the answer Hermoine had replied with to his suggestion that they brew enough to last the year in preparation for Voldemort’s inevitable next move. “Over use can cause side effects such as recklessness and giddiness.” He recited. “And, in large doses, it can be highly toxic.”

“Fifty points to Slytherin for that absolutely perfect answer!” He crowed, chuckling. “My, Tom. You may just have some competition this year.”

Seeming to have recovered somewhat from his lapse in control Tom made a poor effort to smile, handsome face instead contorting into something rather ghoulish as the signals met crossed wires. Again, Slughorn failed to notice.

“A single bottle: the proper dose for a single perfect day. And the prize which shall go to the brewer of the best Draught of Living Death. You may begin.”

The instructions appeared on the board with a wave of his wand and the class at large instantly leapt to their feet. Harry was given no chance to hesitate as Tom’s hand came down on his collar and dragged him to his feet along with him.

“Don’t just sit there shocked. You want a chance to win, don’t you?” he asked, still noticeably snappish, as he shoved a tray of ingredients into his hands. “The Draught of Living Death takes a long time to brew: our goal is to reach lilac before class is over. No one can afford to waist a moment if we really desire to win.”

“Regardless of whether or not I want to win,” and he did as Liquid Luck would help immensely with cracking Tom if used at the right time, “I have no chance.”

A shadow of a smirk reluctantly curved on his lips. “I would offer to go easy on you, but…”

“It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’m competing with you!” His pride couldn’t help but be stung by the suggestion he would require that anyone go easy on him. “I’m _terrible_ at Potions!”

“If you really were ‘terrible’ you’d have gotten a T. Now brew!” A flick of his wand lowered the flames below his cauldron to the exact height they needed to be. Harry had to physically tear his gaze away from the loose curling bangs which hung down into Tom’s face as he bent over the cauldron.

**Step 1: Fill the Cauldron with water.**

“Aguamenti!” The cauldron obediently filled with the clear water shot from the end of his wand. _Well, at least I won’t make a complete fool of myself._

He fully expected he’d soon do something wrong and Tom would never let him live it down.

**Step 2: Add infusion of worm wood.**

**Step 3: Add Powdered Root of Asphodel.**

**Step 4: Stir twice clockwise.**

**Step 5: Add sloth brain.**

**Step 6: Add Sopophorous Bean Juice.**

The book open on the table in front of him instructed that he cut them. Tom, beside him, had already thoroughly diced the beans with ease and dumped the juice into his cauldron, causing the potion inside to turn a deep nightshade color. Harry wasn’t sure whether it was the shape of the bean, the thickness of the shells or the fact that his knife was perhaps a bit duller than it should have been but he found himself unable to cut them, instead wasting close to five minutes chasing the beans around the cutting board. Ultimately, out of annoyance, he crushed the first bean he managed to capture with the flat of the blade.

A shocking volume of juice spewed from the smashed bean. It was probably a bad idea, but doing this was better than going back to imitating a cartoon so he repeated the process. 11 beans. 12. 13.

Whoops. He was only supposed to add 12.

 **Final Step: stir seven times,** he began doing so without fully reading the instructions, **anticlockwise.**

 _Crap!_ He amended his mistake after one turn in the wrong direction, stirring seven times anti-clockwise and hoping it didn’t explode or worse.

“Harry!” Tom hissed in shock, grabbing his wrist. “What did you do?”

He reluctantly looked down hesitantly at his cauldron, expecting an absolute disaster. Instead it looked like it was filled with water. “I don’t know. I basically did everything wrong.”

“So it was an accident?” when Harry nodded Tom laughed. “You weren’t bottle-fed Felix Felicis as a baby? You’re absolutely certain?”

Receiving the stone from the mirror of Erotize. Melting Quirrel’s face off when he’d attacked him. Pulling the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. Slaying the Basilisk. Destroying the diary and the murderous echo of Tom Riddle that it had summoned forth. Saving Sirius, and himself, from what had to be every Dementor to exist in the world by using a Time Turner. Surviving the Tri-wizard Tournament. Enduring Umbridge. Escaping from Voldemort, yet again. “With the way that my life has gone up until now, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was.”

“Time’s up. Step away from your cauldrons, please. I’ll now check to see which of you have produced a good enough Draught to win Felix here.” Slughorn began to slowly move from cauldron to cauldron. Nodding at a few. Vanishing others. And then he came to their table.

“As expected Tom, you’ve managed to brew-.”

“Professor, that potion isn’t mine. It’s Harry’s.”

He turned to look at him. “Is it, now?”

“Yes, Professor. Surprisingly enough.”

“You sell yourself short, my boy!” He said, pulling a small stoppered glass vial from the breast pocket of his waist coat and handing it to him. “One bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Now, we’re out of time. Bottle your potions and set them on my desk before you leave.”

“So,” Harry asked, aware of Tom’s dark gaze on the little bottle of golden liquid in his hand as he slipped it into his robes. “You have Arithmancy next?”

“I do, but it’s a simple enough class. I’ve the textbook fully memorized, know the subject better than the Professor does and have nothing to turn in today.” He informed him, carefully setting a bottle of his pale-lilac Draught on Slughorn’s desk. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll play a bit of hooky and spend the class period hanging out with you. We can enjoy the weather and get to know each other better.”

“Get to know each other better?” he repeated. “If I didn’t know any better I might get the idea that you’re casing me for something more than just a friendship.”

“Would you be adverse to it if I was?” they turned a corner and descended the dungeon stairs. “As for your accusation that I’m ‘casing’ you, I suppose that I am. I make it a point to know everything about those whom I choose to keep the company of. Especially those allowed the honor of being a part of my inner circle.”

Tom recited the password to allow them into the common room without losing the flow of their conversation.

“Do not tell anyone that you won that potion, and hide it. Hide it well.” He informed him in a hushed voice as they moved through the mostly empty common room. A small group of third years scattered to allow them to pass, the girls tittering and the boys blanching ashen grey. “While most wouldn’t know it or what it does by name we here in Slytherin, with the exception of Crab and Goyle, are capable or research and are driven to do so when confronted with information on things we do not know. And when they learn of it, they’ll want it.”

“I’m not a person overly prone to flaunting my fortune. It tends to invite trouble, and I’ve enough of that to deal with as it is.” Pulling open his trunk and rummaging through the contents until he reached the bottom Harry stored the vial of liquid luck safely away. “I already have a plan of what I’ll use it for.”

“Oh?” Tom’s voice was slightly muffled. “What for?”

“That’s information I’d rather keep to myself.” Harry straightened up and turned back towards the other boy, surprised to find him halfway underneath his bed. “Um, Tom, what are you doing?”

“Nagini.” He replied, resurfacing and depositing what looked at first glance to be a large green ball of yarn on top of the sheets. “My familiar. She likes to sleep under my bed and tends to be rather… Antisocial if left to her own devices. I thought she ought to meet you.”

A careful pass of his elegant fingers had the snake unwinding lazily from her coiled up position. From nose to tail she was nearly as long as the bed and about as thick around as his forearm, her scales a diamond pattern of venomous green. A younger version of the serpent that had bitten Ron’s father in the Ministry and nearly eaten him in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. Her slitted Amber eyes glittered up at him curiously.

 _“Master?”_ She rasped sleepily.

“As the heir of Slytherin-last of his line-I possess the ability to speak Parseltongue: the language of snakes.” He informed him proudly. “I’ll introduce you and make sure that she knows better than to bite, even playfully, as she’s near as venomous as a Basilisk.” He said, his gaze on the serpent resting calmly on his bed. “ _Nagini, this is Harry. He’s of great interest to me. I’d even go so far as to call him a friend of sorts. He’s not to be harmed.”_

The raven barely managed to suppress a shudder of warmth. He always had thought Parseltongue’s velveteen tones sounded much better, more natural and alluring, when spoken by Tom than by himself. Even though the only time he’d ever heard it spoken by him before was when the other had sent a Basilisk to kill him.

_“I understand, Master. I won’t bite him, even if I think he does deserve it.”_

_“Good girl.”_ Tom stroked her head fondly a few times before picking her up and wrapping her body around his neck like a scarf. “You won’t need to worry about her, Harry.” He promised, switching back to English. “Though it may take her a while to warm up to you. You don’t have a problem the snakes, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

He smiled at him. “Good.” Tom motioned towards the door. “Shall we?”

“Why not?”

The common room had emptied completely by the time the pair returned down the dorm stairs.

“I thought the only pets that students at Hogwarts were allowed to have were owls, cats and toads.” He said as they reemerge into the halls. “How did you get away with keeping Nagini, especially if she is as venomous as you say?”

“I took it up with Dippet and received permission. The story would’ve been different, of course, had I not been a Parselmouth able to control her.”

“She seems almost tame.”

“Snakes get a bad reputation by those not wise enough to look past their outwardly cold demeanors. They’re loyal. Intelligent. And even the most mundane of serpents have a connection with ancient Dark Magic-powerful magic.” He continued stroking Nagini like a cat. “The perfect companions for one like me. One who will rule all the magical world one day. With you beside me, I hope.”

The pair stepped out into the bright sun of the grounds, skirting around the numerous students out and about either enjoying the weather or heading to class. Harry couldn’t help but notice a group of three 7th year Gryffindor’s glaring at him as they walked.

“What did Minerva say to you earlier?” He asked as they headed towards the Black Lake. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Not much, really. Just that you’re not as much of the Prince Charming as you always put forth. That you’re cruel. And…she compared how you’re reacting around me to the way a Niffler acts around a trinket. That you never normally show such interested in a person.”

“Cruel? It’s not entirely untrue. I am capable of cruelty and more than willing to leverage cruelty as a weapon. But only against those who truly deserve it.” With great grace Tom hoisted himself up onto a boulder. “As for the part about the Niffler, I’ll admit that it’s a fair evaluation. Mine is an obsessive personality: once I’m set on something I pursue it until it is mine no matter what that takes or how long. The Dark Arts. Power. Saving the magical world from filthy Muggles and itself. I’m no stranger to tunnel vision.” His blue eyes rivaled the hue of the lake under the blinding summer sun. “But I have never felt it centered around another person before I met you.”

“Do you know why that could be?” He asked him, sitting down on a smaller rock.

“I can’t be sure.” Tom replied looking down at them. “When I look at you, Harry, I feel like I’m looking into a mirror. Our wands are brothers. Our magical signature, as I’ve noticed while we were in Transfiguration, is almost identical. You’re powerful, though you have room to grow admittedly. And, most importantly, you’re intelligent which none of the others who follow me can say with any honesty. You’re my equal and I want you at my side. Which necessitates the question,” he tilted his head back to bask in the sun this face, “have you given any more thought to it?”

“It?”

“Our potential partnership.”

Harry had hoped the budding Dark Lord had forgotten. “I don’t know, Tom.” He told him. “Making the world tremble and bow isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

“We’d be heroes, Harry. Not just to our peers but future generations. Magic is dying.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He replied. “And being a hero is a greater burden than you realize.”

He knew that better than anyone, what with being the Boy-Who-Lived.

“What was it like being homeschooled by your parents?”

“Not my parents, my aunt and uncle. My parents died when I was one on Halloween night.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. “My father abandoned my mother when she was pregnant with me. Filthy Muggle bastard. Though I guess I can’t entirely blame him: idiot of the witch that she was. Amortentia.” Tom shook his head. “She died when I was born; only lived long enough to give me my father’s disgusting name. But I, in all my imaginative wisdom, have given myself a new name. One which the whole world will soon fear to even speak!”

“Voldemort.”

Both boys went stiff at the same moment, Tom out of surprise and Harry out of horror over his own mistake.

“I… Heard one of the others mention it.”

He managed to keep the tremor out of his voice. Tom, accepting his explanation, relaxed.

“Yes. Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.” In a single swift movement he scrambled up onto his feet, throwing his arms wide into a grand gesture and nearly flinging Nagini into the lake causing her to let out a disgruntled hiss. “I will make my mark upon this world as the next Merlin! I’ll achieve immortality! Master magic to a degree that no other has ever managed! And go down in history as the greatest wizard to ever live!”

The greatest terror to ever live, perhaps.

“Would that make you happy, Tom? Lording over the world as some sort of King?”

“Would it make me happy?” He repeated. “The bloody hell kind of question is that? I’d have absolute power. The ability to do what I’ve always known needed to be done. The recognition I deserve. What more is there?”

“Friends. A family. Love.”

Love?” He snorted. “You’re naïve, Harry. There is no such thing as love. It’s nothing but the veneer the brains of those unable to confront their own animal instincts and selfish desires present. The love of a partner: desire for sex. The love of a child: desire to be cared for. The love of a parent: desire to continue the bloodline. Nature. Nothing more. Certainly no greater power nor any sort of magic.”

“You’ve never felt it? At all?”

“Did you not hear Professor Slughorn? I am incapable. All children conceived under the influence of that damn potion are.”

“He didn’t say you are incapable, he said you had to learn. And you don’t strike me as the type of person to abide by not knowing how to do something.”

Tom slid down from his boulder, dark eyes almost black. “I do not waste my time on worthless subjects, Potter.” Harry couldn’t help it flinch at the all-too-familiar Arctic bitterness. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve Prefectural duties to attend to. Come along, Nagini.”

Before Harry could even act to speak he was gone.

Lesson learned: subtlety was key. He could only hope he hadn’t blown everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to be seeing Fantastic Beasts tonight with a close friend of mine. Hope everyone had a good holiday.


	5. Of Blood Purity

_Snow fell slowly passed his face. Large round flakes of white fluff lazily drifting downwards, dancing with the wind as they made their way towards the distant ground to join their countless brethren while some settled atop the tower around him. On his shoulders. Colonizing his black hair and frosting his eyelashes. The lenses of his glasses had fogged over from the cold, similar silver clouds rising with his breath into the below freezing winter air, but that fact didn’t adversely affect his vision. Nor did the cold affect him, despite having nothing but thin robes to shield him from the cutting wind. He could feel the chill coiling around his chest and torso like pythons made of snow and ice but for some reason which he couldn’t pinpoint his body failed to even put forth the slightest shiver._

_A low creak from behind him made him turn to face the figure which had emerged through the heavy wooden door of the Astronomy tower. Tall, robed in black and ensconced in a hood of deep shadow from beneath which glowed a pair of predatory red eyes. Their slitted gazed locked on him. Harry tried to go for his wand but his body refused to respond to his command, lips curling instead into a smile as the Dark Lord glided towards him._

_And pulled him into his arms._

_His mind was in absolute turmoil, unable to understand the situation or exactly what was happening and once again his body reacted separately from his reeling consciousness. Relaxing into the warmth of the taller man’s now almost skeletal form. Allowing the long thing fingers and sharp blue-toned nails to card through his hair and stroke his face for a few moments before stepping back again._

_Voldemort extended his hand. “Your arm, Precious.”_

_He lifted his right arm, allowing the other to take it and push up his sleeve. Pressing the tip of his death-white wand to the Dark Mark branded into the skin._

Pain lanced through his upper arm, jolting him quite alarmingly from a deep sleep. Harry let out a yowl of surprise, tumbled out of bed and landed with a muted thump at Tom’s feet.

“Sorry. The Stinging Hex was mostly unintentional.” He said. “I’ve been poking you for close to five minutes at this point and suppose I got a bit annoyed when you didn’t respond.”

“Tempus.” Harry glanced at the clock he’d conjured. “It’s 3 am, Tom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cast a Silencing Charm around our beds and we don’t have class until after lunch tomorrow.” Tom removed his robes and stepped out of his shoes before swiftly changing into loose sleeping clothes. “I’ve an important line of questioning to ask you.”

Well, the sooner he allowed him to do as he felt he needed the quicker he’d be able to get back to sleep. “And?”

“I’m aware that there is a Pure Blood Potter line-a predominantly Gryffindor line, but that’s beside the point-but I need to know for sure. You’re not a Mudblood, are you?”

“Watch it, Riddle. My Mother was Muggle Born.”

“And your Father?”

Harry threw himself back down on his bed with a sigh. He really should have seen this coming eventually. “My father was a Pure Blood.”

“So you’re a Half-Blood?” he asked before muttering to himself “another thing we have in common.”

“What’s it to you?” he grumbled into his pillow.

“What’s it to me?” Tom repeated. “Everything, obviously. I already told you that I don’t waste my time on useless subjects.” Clearly he hadn’t been forgiven for their earlier conversation. “I’ve made it more than clear that I have interest in you as well as the reasons for it. I’m considering inviting you into my inner circle. But I needed to be sure you weren’t an Undesirable first.”

“An ‘Undesirable’ like my mother, you mean?”

“At least she had magic.” Tom was entirely unruffled by the other’s obvious anger. “Not like my slug of a father. A Muggle and a magic hater.”

“Why do you hate them so much?” without his glasses on all he could see of the other was a dark blur. “The Muggles, I mean.”

“Because they hate us, Harry. They hate us and would kill us all should they be given half the chance. We may have magic but they have guns and bombs and superior numbers. 100 of them for every 1 of us.” He told him. “And it isn’t as if it’s a new phenomenon or even something that the Ministry attempts to censor. It’s the real reason for the Statute of Secrecy. Hell, it’s in bloody children’s tales! Ever read _The Tales of Beetle the Bard?_ ”

“No,” Harry admitted, though he had heard of it a few times from Ron. “But I have heard about it. Something about a Hopping Pot?”

“Yes, that is one tale but I’m referencing Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump.” Well, that was probably the single most ridiculous thing he’d ever hear voluntarily come out of Tom Riddle’s mouth. “It tells of a witch who was a rabbit Animagus; they blamed her for interfering with the magic of a King-which she was really responsible for as he was nothing but Muggle trash-and hunted her down with torches and hounds. She hid beneath a tree, tricking them into believing that she’d Transfigured herself into it, and so they cut it down. A child’s bedtime tale about Muggles trying to kill a witch. And then there were those Second Salem nut-cases across the pond in America just 16 years ago. Handing out flyers to the public consigning us to burn. Indoctrinating their children to hate us merely for the crime of existing. And we’re expected to abide by them?”

“Not all Muggles are the same, Tom. What about Muggle-borns and their families?”

“Mudbloods don’t deserve magic; they don’t belong in our world. They’re stealing magic from those who truly have the right-.”

“Stealing Magic?” Harry repeated. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

Damn his inner Gryffindor to hell, right along with his big fat mouth. The glare that Tom gave him could have struck the Chamber’s Basilisk dead.

“Magic is might and only those who can trace their line back to Pure Blood deserve access to it.” A flick of his wand pulled the curtains around his bed closed with a hiss of rungs against metal, effectively ending their conversation and digging him further into his proverbial hole.

But Harry was too tired, and too troubled by what the dream he’d had could potentially mean, to care too much for the potentially irreparable damage he’d caused to his credibility with Tom and as a Slytherin in general.

It had undeniably been Voldemort beneath that hood, but not the one from his own time. Did that mean he might really be at risk of switching sides? Falling for his vision and what he had to say? In his experience whenever he dreamed it tended to be a reflection of something real, of course he’d never seen the future in one of them before.

The ring on his finger glinted gently in the eerie moonlight suffusing through the dorm rooms windows. Looking for all the world as if it were nothing more than a mundane piece of silver rather than an illegal device capable of bridging alternate timelines, not that it had any power to it now. He wasn’t able to go back until the first night of Christmas Break, at the earliest, and had no idea exactly when on that night the ring would reactivate. And perhaps that was for the best. He might have been tempted to abandon the effort entirely if it had been.

No. He was far too stubborn to allow Voldemort, in any incarnation but most especially as a school boy, to get the better of him. Not after everything that he’d already done to him and those he cared about. He was determined, if nothing else, to lay Tom Riddle bare. To tear his arrogant pride apart. String him up before the harsh light of day for all to see. If for no other reason than to prove to the shadows of his tormented past that he could.

The stated goal of saving Tom Riddle from himself, salvaging him from the talons of madness, was all but forgotten. It was now about besting his perennial enemy.

Patience was not a trait representative of Lion House and not something that most Gryffindors had in any large supply but it was what was necessary for him to achieve his newly minted goals so he would bide his time.  Lie in wait for however long it took and best him at his own game. Would behave, to a point, through the period of distance that the dark brunet was sure to impose upon him to make his distaste for his views known, and lure the master of deception manipulation into a trap of his own making. When the chance presented itself he’d take the luck potion he’d won and tempt him past the point of no return.

Tom Marvolo Riddle wouldn’t know what hit him.

 

As expected, Tom didn’t speak to him at all the next morning and quickly vacated the common room to avoid him. Two of the other boys-Mulciber and Nott, if he remembered correctly-watched him like vultures on a carcass as he quickly changed into his robes and grabbed his copy of _Confronting the_ _Faceless_ to start work on the 24 inch essay on Counter Jinxes that Professor Merrythought had assigned them the day before.

He managed almost a third of it by the time lunch rolled around, having slept through breakfast, and packed his things away quickly before heading down to the Great Hall.

As he had the day before Tom sat towards the far end of the table, holding court amidst his loyal circle. Perhaps it was a somewhat spiteful desire to get under Tom’s skin, to disrupt his mask if only slightly and take away the iron-clad control he’d long since grown used to that drove him to do it.

Despite the fact that the space had already been occupied by Avery Harry took the seat on Tom’s right, foisting the other boy aside much to his vocalized dismay.

“Oi! That’s my spot you Muggle-loving runt!”

“Oh?” he made a show or glancing around as if looking for something. “I don’t see your name anywhere. Looks to me like this seat, just like all the others, is entirely up for grabs.”

“That particular seat was already take, Potter.” So it was ‘Potter’ now, was it? “You’re not currently welcome here. Should I determine that you have served enough of a punishment I may allow you to return sometime from-.”

“Exile?” Tom’s eyebrows shot into his fringe at the interruption. “Sorry Riddle, but I’m not about to jump at your command. If you want me to move you’ll have to make me.”

“Will I?” danger was clear in his voice but Harry refused to be cowed. “Crab! Goyle! Remove him!”

Crab and Goyle Senior were, if anything, even more resemblent of Trolls in robes than Malfoy’s choice goons were. A meaty paw descended on his shoulder. A wand held within clear view, though kept low enough that it didn’t attract the attention of the teachers at the table nearby.

“You can move, runt, or we can move you.” Goyle grunted hoarsely at him. “You’ve got three seconds to scarper before we ‘assist’ you.”

“Have things your way, Tom. Though I hope you now realize that not everyone at this school is going to bow to you.” With a small smirk on his face Harry vacated the bench and skirted the length of the table to the other end. Hopefully, by stirring up the beehive, he’d made himself impossible to ignore for very long.

Tom watched him go, torn between outrage and begrudging respect.

“Should we deal with him, Tom?” Lestrange piped up from across the table from him.

“Yeah, that brat has a big mouth! Needs to learn to shut it before he gets hurt!”

“None of you are going to lay so much as a finger on a single hair on his head. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

“But Tom, he tried to make a fool of you in front of the entire school.” Mulciber said. “You’re really going to let him get away with that?”

“That’s not like you.”

“Yeah. If any of us had done that-.”

“ _It wasn’t one of you!”_ All of them flinched. “He’s new. Naïve. Doesn’t know any better, poor thing. And the only one who’s ever had the gall to give me any sort of challenge; I want him!”

The group surrounding him exchanged glances.

“It’s settled, then. We get him.” Nott said. “Question is, how? He’s clearly possessed of a Gryffindor streak a mile wide!”

“We’ll give him the cold shoulder for now. He doesn’t know anyone at this school; cutting him off will be an affective punishment. We’ll let him sit until October comes around, and then we’ll bring him into the fold. Teach him better.”

“Just give the word, Tom.” Avery growled from beside him. “No matter how stubborn he is, that Muggle-loving bleeder won’t be able to resist your charms forever. Soon enough he’ll belong to you, just like the rest of us.”


	6. The Lion and the Snake

There were at least twice the number of books occupying the dusty shelves of the restricted section in 1942 than he’d ever remembered seeing in 1996. Old yellowed pages. Kankled, bending spines. Faded titles in various colors and materials from simple ink to gold leafing.  _Magick Most Evile. Fifteenth-Century Fiends. Secrets of the Darkest Art. Timescapes and Temporal Travel._

Harry’s fingers tugged futilely at the book for a few moments before finally managing to pry it from its place tightly wedged between _Famous Fire Eaters_ and what he strongly suspected to be the screaming book he had mistakenly opened in his first year. Tucking the book which might finally answer his remaining questions in regard to alternate timelines and the tribulations of traversing them under his arm he set out to locate a table, or at the very least a chair, which had been tucked into a forgotten corner where he’d be less likely to be disturbed by anyone. Unfriendly or otherwise.

A high backed slightly faded red chair did indeed occupy an isolated bubble of open space which had been wedged haphazardly between a pair of towering overfilled shelves. Settled in and now all but certain that he would not be bothered Harry set the heavy and positively ancient book atop his lap. Carefully opening it, not wanting to accidentally damage the old text.

The leather cover creaked and crackled as it was opened, revealing pages made wavy and yellow by age and assaulting him with the smell of ink parchment and dust. The lettering was penned in the same hand which seemed to inhabit the pages of every text that had ever been written and so faded by time that he almost had to press his face against the softened paper in order to be able to read it.

**Table of Contents:**

**Foreword: The Intricacies of Time’s Sacrosanct**

**Chapter 1: Temporal Magic and the Department of Mysteries Page 20-210**

**Chapter 2: Time Turner’s-The Do’s and Don’ts of Successful Lawful Usage Page 211-403**

**Chapter 3: the Dangers of Temporal Paradoxes Page 404-627**

**Chapter 4: Linear Timeline Manipulation Page 628-800**

**Chapter 5: Multiple Timeline Traversal Theory Page 801-1293**

Harry flipped quickly to the correct page, opening the book to the fifth chapter. The first thing which confronted him was a larger version of the chapter’s title inlaid with shimmering gold leaf.

**Chapter 5: Multiple Timeline Traversal Theory**

The second thing was a detailed diagram penned in red and silver ink of what at first glance resembled numerous single threads lined up side-by-side in a careful orderly and almost obsessive manner. Glinting gently in the candlelight and rippling softly in nonexistent wind. Much like the cloth which hung from the stone archway that Sirius had vanished through. Harry shuddered and did the best that he could to force thoughts of last year’s latest trauma from his head. Refocusing on the task at hand.

Below the carefully crafted diagram was a written caption: **Visual Depiction of Parallel Temporal Thread Theory.**

Harry turned his eyes to the words written across the opposite page.

**Among the wonders researched by the Unspeakables within the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries, as mentioned before in this book, is the search to understand time’s flow. Not only the present past and future, how to change the past, rectify paradoxes caused by doing so and determining whether the prophecies given by Seers truly do foretell what shall come to pass but determining the legitimacy-or illegitimacy-of alternate timelines existing beside but separate from our own.**

**Just as many distinguished witches and wizards believe in the existence of alternate timelines as do not, and it seems that there are near as many separate theories for their structure. The biggest reason that the matter of whether or not alternative timelines to our own exist is so controversial-aside from the potential complications that traveling to and affecting one might cause-is that no one can agree on even the simplest matters regarding the subject.**

**Does time flow the same there as it does in our own? If so, does this account for all of them or only a few?**

**Are the events identical or can villains in our own time manifest as heroes in others? If so, does this account for all of them or only some?**

**Does magic exist in every timeline, or only our own?**

**Is history different?**

**How many alternate timelines are there? One? Thousands? An infinite number, all ever repeating the same unchangeable events? Merely reflections of us and what we know and do?**

**What is their structure? Intersecting and influencing each other? Far apart and random? Badly tangled like a ball of yarn?**

**The most coherent theory, as put forth by the renowned Albus Dumbledore, is known as the Parallel Temporal Thread Theory. The idea behind this theory is that there are an indiscernible number of separate timelines all laid out parallel to each other. Close together but not quite touching. And each of them are at a different point in time on the same line of occurrence though they can be changed by outside interference. Outside interference delivered by use of a theorized device, a sort of temporal portkey, which would allow one to “jump” between the separate lines like arcing lightning. Dictating the direction of travel through some manner of manipulation via said device.**

“A spot of reading, especially regarding subjects affecting one’s life which they don’t fully understand, can never be anything but beneficial Harry.” He jumped slightly, nearly dropping the heavy book, and looked up to find Dumbledore smiling at him from the end of a nearby lane of shelving. One of the books that he’d seen earlier in the restricted section- _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ -held almost gingerly in one hand. “Except, perhaps, when in regards to the material contained within this book in particular. Content matter most inappropriate for students; I’ve been trying to get Dippet to remove it for months and shall now be taking things into my own hands. I can only hope I have beaten Mr. Riddle to it.”

“That book is on Horcruxes, isn’t it Sir?”

Dumbledore nodded. “It is.” He said. “I can only assume that my counterpart sent you here to prevent Tom from creating them? Or, perhaps, to recruit his help in destroying them?”

“Getting him to help us was the goal, yes. Voldemort wouldn’t expect that he’d be helping us.”

The elderly professor’s smile was sad. “How many did he make? Do you know?”

Harry shook his head. “No. More than one-I have already destroyed one of them, though at the time I had no idea what it was-most likely a lot more than one. He doesn’t even look human anymore.”

“And he gave you that scar? Voldemort?” Out of habit Harry’s hand shot up to press his ragged bangs down, but he stopped the movement halfway through and forced his hand back into his lap. “Do you hate him?”

“Voldemort? Everyone does who isn’t a Death Eater.”

“And Tom?”

Did he hate Tom? The echo who had nearly killed both him and his best friend’s little sister. The boy who had framed Hagrid and gotten him wrongfully expelled. The man who’d created, and then been devoured by, the monster that was Voldemort.

“Tom has been dead for decades, in my time. There’s not even a single trace of him left.” Harry tried to envision those awful red eyes but all he could bring to mind was a deep fathomless blue. “Even now I feel like most of him is gone. Or, at least, buried.”

“But you don’t hate him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tom is misguided and forgotten. Labeled either as an Angel without a need to be saved or a Devil beyond all hope of redemption. I must admit that even I myself am guilty of this, to a point.” Dumbledore informed him sadly. “His heart is frozen and his soul, though still whole to my knowledge, has begun to turn Dark. But he will seek salvation in you; it’s part of what he pursues you so intensely. He instinctually recognizes that you can save him, though I doubt he knows that he knows it or even for that matter knows that it’s something he desires.”

The candle sitting beside him on the little table went out, the wick having burned down to nearly nothing.

“Well you would best be heading back to your dorm, Harry. It’s beginning to get late, and as good as it is to see young people with an interest in knowledge that’s no excuse for breaking curfew.”

“Of course, Professor.” Harry said, closing the book and going to return it to its proper shelf. “It was good speaking with you.”

“You as well, my dear boy.”

Successfully wedging the text back into place in the restricted section and managing to make it past the librarian Harry slipped through the library’s double doors and began the trek down towards the Slytherin common room. Moonlight was slanting through the windows and he was walking the wire with curfew but Harry, thinking back on the month of September that he’d spent seeking out a large group of friends-larger than he’d normally be comfortable with simply out of wanting to spite Tom and his lapdogs-and driving the dark brunette up a wall all by acting like being cut from his company wasn’t a big deal, which it really wasn’t, he couldn’t help but smile.

It’d been pleasant, grounding, to get away from the intense presence and Hawk like eyes and paranoid sometimes barely sensical ramblings that Tom was prone to. Especially while egged on by his rabbid hounds.

He’d even managed to reassemble a semblance of his group of friends from his own time. Midian Lovegood, a Ravenclaw just like Luna but a great deal more grounded in reality than his female descendent. Neil Longbottom, brother to Neville’s grandmother who was still stern, immovable and even better left avoided that an angry Tom. And then there was Kenny Weasley, whose personality reminded him of a strange amalgamation of Percy and the twins.

Perhaps it was because he was a Gryffindor, perhaps it was because the Weasley’s were “blood traitors” but whatever the reason Kenny’s presence annoyed Tom most of all, and so he kept his company as often as he could. Sitting with him in all the classes that they had together. Relishing the white hot glares digging into his back.

“Garden snake, out all alone.” Harry barely had the chance to notice the blur of red and gold before his back slammed against the stone wall and a hand clamped around his throat. “No cobra to protect you lately, we’ve noticed. Riddle sick of you too, slimy snake?”

He was pinned to the wall by one of the 7th year Gryffindor’s that had glared at him that first day out on the grounds. One of the other two raided his pockets, filching his wand.

“Hey!”

“Quiet!” A swift strike broke his nose, sending blood gushing down over his lips and chin. In pain and furious Harry struggled to free himself but it was three on one and all of them were at least twice as big as him.

“Snakes should stay in Snake House because you’re not welcome elsewhere. Especially in Gryffindor.” The one holding him grunted. “So we are going to make sure you learn what happens when you step out of safe territory where we’re forced to deal with the lot of you.”

“I do believe, Quinton-and the two of you as well, Blishon and Runcorn-are out past curfew. I’ll be taking 50 points from Gryffindor for that. Each.” Through his mostly unseated and blood flecked glasses Harry saw, over the shoulder of Quinton, Tom step from around the corner. Hands hidden in the pockets of his robes and a murder of miniature crows flocking about his dark curls. “Not to mention that you three little stray kittens are currently standing smack dab in the middle of Sytherin grounds. Not even a full corridor down from our common room in fact. So if anyone has “stepped out of safe territory”,” his head tilted slightly to the right, a single simple movement which was unreasonably threatening while accompanied with the shrieking birds, “it would be you.”

“Riddle.” Quinton said. “Doesn’t a Prefect have better things to do than stand in the hallway shooting the breeze? We’ll be out of your hair as soon as we're finished here.”

“You already _are_ finished here.” Tom’s dark eyes drifted briefly to Harry, landing on his blood coated face. “Assaulting another student?” Those unforgiving orbs then locked on the stolen Holly wand. “Stealing too? Didn’t your head of house, Dumbledore, inform you three Cro-Magnons that stealing,” a swift flick of his own wand sent Harry’s sailing into his free hand, “isn’t tolerated at Hogwarts? Another 100 points from each of you.”

The three boys exchanged a look that Harry recognized all too well as the one Dudley would send his friends when they were preparing to beat him up. Clearly Tom recognized it too; his face darkened and a silent cast of Engorgio grew the crows circling his head to the size of Chihuahuas.

“Get him!”

The dark brunette didn’t so much as flinch as the three charged them like unleashed bulls. Tom calmly aimed his wand at them, lips curling into a smirk.

“Oppugno!”

The Chihuahua sized crows let out a murderous shriek and flew at the three 7th years in a flurry of sharp beaks long talons and black feathers. Bleeding and blinded by flapping wings his attackers turned tail and ran. The crows dissolved at the far end of the hallway.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Tom asked him quietly, holding out his recovered wand.

“I’m alright. In a bit of pain but I’ve had worse.” He grunted, shoving his wand back into his back pocket. “I’m going to head to the-.”

“Nonsense, I’ll deal with it.” The other male didn’t give him a chance to protest before he was in front of him. So close that their chests were almost pressing together, surrounding the slightly smaller male in his scent and causing Harry to be immensely thankful of the blood on his face as it covered up the blush that had formed at the sudden realization.

The Amortentia had smelled, to him, like Treacle tart broom sticks and _Tom_.

A careful motion of his wand suctioned up the blood, clearing the way for his long cold fingers to probe gently around the injured area. Tom clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Oafish brute. It’s definitely broken.” He set the tip of his wand against the bridge of his nose and tapped him smartly. “Episky.”

The broken cartilage snapped into place

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

Tom inclined his head slightly. “From your lack of reaction I take it that you’ve had that used on you before.”

“Once.” He conceded.

The other reached under his robes and pulled a semi-reluctant Nagini free of the warm fabric. “Would you mind taking her back to the dorms with you? I have to check the astronomy tower before I can retire for the night and I’d rather not risk her freezing.”

“ _Master, it’s not that cold out! I’ll stay in your clothes!”_

“Yes, I’ll take her to the dorm with me.” Nagini unhappily curled herself around his arm when she was handed over.

“ _Master, please!”_

Tom ignored her.

“I guess we’ll go back to not speaking to each other now?”

“Why? So that you go running back to Kenny Weasley and get the tar beaten out of you by more Gryffindor’s?”

“I can take care of myself, Tom.”

“You’ve an interesting technique of doing so.” Harry aimed a halfhearted push at him with the arm that Nagini wasn’t currently wrapped around. Tom easily retained his feet, reciprocating with his own shove and laughing softly. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’m not going to wait up for you, Riddle.”

Tom smiled at him before walking away. “I don’t expect you to.”

Harry headed the rest of the way down the hallway towards the wall which concealed the common room and let himself inside. Surprisingly most people were still away, sitting up in the common room either doing homework or playing Exploding Snap. He found himself absently wondering what Tom did when he wasn’t studying sleeping or whipping his circle into a frenzy.

“Does Tom ever play any games?” He asked without really thinking. English, not Parseltongue. Mostly because he didn’t expect to get an answer.

“ _No. Master doesn’t play any games.”_

“I figured that he wouldn’t.” The dorm was empty. Harry sat down on his bed and set Nagini in his lap. “If not games what does he do during his leisure time?”

Nagini let out a low hiss. _“You’re a speaker? A speaker just like Master? You can understand me_?”

He nodded. _“I can.”_

_“But you’re not of Slytherin’s line. Master has no living family.”_

_“No. I’m not. I can’t say for absolute certain that I don’t have some distant tie to him through my father as all Pureblood’s are interrelated at this point, but even if I do have some blood tie to him it’s not strong enough for me to have inherited Parseltongue.”_

_“Then how are you a speaker?”_

_“Best that anyone can theorize, it has to do with this.”_ He pushed his bangs back, revealing the scar on his head to the serpent’s eyes.

 _“A curse scar.”_ He nodded. “ _How did you get that?”_

 _“When my parents died. It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you some other day.”_ He said. _“Could you answer my question, please?”_

 _“Master did not always have his humans. He was a lonely child, once. An outcast, even amongst witches and wizards. I was his only friend and companion for the duration of his first three years here.”_ She told him, high cold voice tinged with obvious sadness. “ _So he would go to the room where he meets now with his humans and plans to meet with you. The room which appears only to those who seek for it with need, for which it will provide.”_

_“The Room of Requirement.”_

_“I do not know what it is called.”_ Nagini rasped. “ _Master would go there to the room and it would fill with things which are lost and unwanted. Things with which he felt a kinship: abandoned. Amongst those things was a noise box.”_

 _“A noise box?”_ what came to mind at that description was a television, but Harry doubted that was what the Serpent meant.

_“Yes. A noise box. Oddly shaped and on four legs, its open mouth filled with black and white teeth which make sounds when pressed.”_

_“A piano.”_ Harry was surprised. He had to admit that, despite having the perfect hands for it, he was shocked to discover that Tom was musical.

“ _He would sing sometimes too, but that was years ago. Before he became obsessed with his Voldemort. His Voldemort is changing him. His humans are changing him. I fear for Master, but regardless he is my Master and I shall obey him.”_

 _“I want to help him, Nagini. That’s why I’m here.”_ He told her, hoping she would agree to assist him even if only to a minor degree. “ _I want to save him from Voldemort but in order to do that I need to know more about him. Anything, everything, that you can tell me.”_

The serpent stared at him silently for a moment before crawling off of him, over to Tom’s bed and vanishing into the pillowcase. Just when Harry was of the mind to think he’d made a mistake in admitting so much to the other boy’s familiar something slid of the pillowcase and onto the floor with a thump and a flop. Nagini followed afterwards, watching him bend to pick it up.

The diary.

_“I will warn you when I sense him return. You must put it back in the pillowcase or he will know that someone has messed with his things. And the only one here is you.”_

He quickly open the leather bound book, half expecting it to be blank like the Horcrux which had been made from it. Instead it was filled with Tom’s elegant almost artistic hand, dates meticulous and lines and letter-size immaculate. _“Thank you.”_

_“I did this for my Master, not for you.”_

Knowing he only had so much time Harry quickly thumbed to the back of the journal towards one of the most recent entries.

**September 15, 1942**

**I had hoped that this would go any other way than how it has. I had hoped that you would act as all the others have. Looking from the outside, feeling lost and alone, so that when you returned you would be more compliant-through a mix of gratitude and fear of further ostracization-and I could begin to mold you like clay. Clay. That’s what all the others are made of. Moldable. Direct able. Impressionable.**

**But you are made of marble.**

**You anger me, Harry. It’s been a long time since anyone has told me “no” and even longer since anyone was able to get away with it. But anger isn’t the only reason I grow hot and see red while around you. Especially when you’re with others. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. My fault of course, I should’ve known better. You’re not like the rest.**

**You’re mine. You know that, don’t you? I’ve made myself clear, haven’t I?**

**Love is of no use, it only makes you weak. And I, as a soon to be Lord of Darkness, have no time for weakness.**

**But even a Demon can lust.**

“ _He’s coming up the stairs!”_

Nagini’s hiss propelled them off his own bed and onto Tom’s. He stuffed the diary un-sanctimoniously back into the pillow before diving back onto his own just seconds before he came walking through the door.

“You are aware that you still have your shoes on, right Harry?” He asked him with a raised eyebrow, stepping out of his own.

“Oh. Yeah. Definitely knew that.” He hastily got to his feet and opened his trunk, rummaging around in order to pull out sleeping clothes. Tom had already changed and lain down.

“Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Tom.”

Both drew their curtains; there would be no conversation that night. Harry lay in bed staring up at the barely visible ceiling. He couldn’t tell what Dumbledore’s intention had been for the two of them, his initial impression on the ultimate outcome had been that he would befriend Tom Riddle. After all, though he never really had much time to focus on such things, he knew that he wasn’t gay. He was not, nor had ever been, even the least bit interested in men.

Until Tom.

He had intended to draw the line at friends. Tom, it seemed, intended to draw the line at a “mutually beneficial partnership” of sorts. It looked like they’d both be getting in a great deal deeper than either had intended to.


	7. The Knights of Walpurgis

Leave it to Tom Riddle to make the morning post dramatic. Harry hadn’t seen Hedwig in a number of weeks-hadn’t expected to given that no one he knew aside from McGonagall and Dumbledore existed yet-so when his beautiful snowy white owl came sailing down with the others he couldn’t help but be a bit shocked. The letter, it turned out, was from the resident blossoming Dark Lord.

**To Harry J. Potter on behalf of the Knights of Walpurgis**

                The Knights of Walpurgis? Apparently Tom’s inner circle hadn’t always called themselves Death Eaters.

**Come to the left corridor of the seventh floor tonight at the stroke of six. I will meet you there and allow you inside.**

**Voldemort.**

**PS: Burn this note as soon as you get the chance.**

                Indeed, no one knew dramatic quite like Tom Riddle.

Now, Harry sat cross-legged on his bed with a Tempus-summoned clock and the little bottle of Felix Felicis in his lap. Waiting until the absolute last moment, not wanting to risk wasting any of its effects.

Five Forty Five PM.

Closing the clock and vanishing it, Harry pulled out the cork, downed the contents and then vanished the bottle for good measure as well. He had 15 minutes to get up to the seventh floor to meet Tom. If he left now he’d be sure to make it on time.

The best course of action was obviously to head down to the kitchen and nick a bottle of Fire Whiskey. Or may be more than one.

Something told him that Tom wouldn’t mind him being a smidgen late. Or that Filch’s predecessor-thankfully without a 1940s version of Mrs. Noris-wouldn’t bother with him walking the line of curfew once again. After making his way down to the Hufflepuff wing of the school and tickling the pear, Harry allowed himself into the kitchens and soon found himself of up to his knees in House Elves.

The tiny squeaky creatures immediately mobbed him, large eyes wide and bat-like ears flapping slightly as they rushed over. The sight of them made him simultaneously smile and rub his bludger-broken arm.

“Hello Sir. What can we’s get for you?”

“A couple bottles of Fire Whiskey, if you have them.”

“We’s keep some at the Castle, yes Sir, but it’s only for the teachers Sir. You are not of age?”

“Myself? No. But a few of the others are.” At least he thought they were. “What’s a bit of rebellion every once in a while if not good for you, I say. Especially when done with intentions like mine.”

“What is your intentions, Sir?” Another of the Elves piped up curiously.

“Nothing troublemaking,” well perhaps his intended victim would think otherwise. “I have a friend who really needs to let himself relax once in a while is all. Riddle really needs to take the stick out from time to time: I thought a glass or two would help him do that.”

“Mr. Riddle, Sir?” The first Elf squeaked excitedly beginning to wring their hands together. “We knows of Mr. Riddle, Sir. And we’s think that you’re right about him.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “We’s can get for you the Fire Whiskey, Sir. Wait here.”

The Elf popped away, reappearing moments later with two bottles of the amber-hued drink in its little hands.

“Here’s you go, Sir. Be careful.”

“Thank you.” Taking both bottles from the Elf in front of him Harry bolted from the kitchens and up to the seventh floor-avoiding the trick step effortlessly on the way-and managed to arrive just as Tom stepped out of the Room of Requirement to retrieve him.

“Sorry about that, Harry. I know that I said stroke of six and it’s currently five past but I had to… end an argument.” He sent a pointed glare over his shoulder back into the room through the still open door. When he turned back to him his gaze landed on the bottles and his eyebrows rose. “What is that?”

“Fire Whiskey.”

“What?”

“Fire Whiskey.”

“Yes, I know. I meant… Nevermind. Enough time has been wasted, come on.” Making a firm point of ignoring the alcohol Tom led him into the room that he’d just stepped out of. “Welcome to the Room of Requirement: the room was enchanted by the founders of this noble school to provide for those who knew of it whatever they might require at the time. Cleaning supplies. A place to hide something of value, or something banned. A-.”

“Room full of chamber pots?”

Caught off guard, Tom couldn’t suppress a rather undignified snort. One which he quickly covered up by saying “I don’t see why that would be beyond the realm of possibility. Do you require one?”

“No.” He smirked. “Just recalling an old story that I overheard a few years back.”

“I see.” Looking as if he didn’t entirely believe him, he turned back to the room at large, allowing Harry a brief moment to examine the area.

Last time he’d been in the room it had outfitted itself as the headquarters of their student-run outlawed defense class “Dumbledore’s Army”. The time before that, during his fourth year, it had merely been an empty classroom. Now it resembled one of the lavish PureBlood manors he’d so often seen during his flashes into Voldemort’s mind.

The floor was paneled in dark wood and a Venetian rug-atop which Nagini had curled up to sleep-was spread before a stone hearth inside of which a fire crackled warmly. The walls were painted in dark tones which were rapidly approaching black and banners pattern in rich emerald green hung from the ceiling adorned, of course, by the skull and serpent of the Dark Mark.

Around a long wooden table, sitting in silver-plated chairs which almost looked to have been pulled from the Slytherin common room, were seven other boys.

“This is the Knights of Walpurgis, a personal club of sorts. My inner circle. Trust me, once we are out of school and well away from the prying eyes of _him_ the name will be changing to something much more… Appropriate.” Tom allowed himself a moment to sneer before continuing to speak. “Do not think that you are a part of us yet merely because you received an invitation. That was merely an invitation to a trial run, of sorts: should tonight go well, I may allow you to become a permanent fixture in my inner circle.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Tom’s Umbridge-esque smile was answer enough. “Good thing I brought these then.”

All seven pairs of eyes were immediately on the bottles when he set them down. Staring at them as if they never seen such a thing before. After a few moments, the one he recognized as Lestrange picked up one of the bottles to examine it.

“Draken Feur” he read the Crimson label, turning the bottle in his hands. “Merlin, this is black label: the best available on the market in Germany and next to impossible to purchase here. Where did you get it?”

Harry shrugged. “The kitchens.”

“You nicked it from the teacher's stash?” It was the only one in the room he didn’t recognize who spoke this time, sounding begrudgingly respectful. From the coloring of his hair, Harry felt that he could confidently assume that he was a Malfoy. “Why?”

“Thought we could play a drinking game.”

“Two Truths and a Lie!”

“Oh bloody hell yes!”

“Hurry, someone summon glasses! Let’s get this going!”

Before anyone could react further both bottles went flying across the table into Tom’s hands.

“We are here for a _meeting_ , not a party, or have all of you forgotten that?” He hissed. “I am a _Prefect_ , Head Boy, and all of us are under aged!”

“Oh come on, Tom.” Avery scoffed. “You’ll teach us spells that are all but a one-way ticket to Azkaban but you won’t do anything that could get you a detention?”

“I think he’s more worried about making a fool of himself around us; we all know he’s never touched a drop.” Goyle snickered.

“Probably a lightweight.” Crab added.

“Not like any of us will remember it anyway, come morning.” Lestrange said.

The way that the vein in Tom’s temple was visibly pulsing reminded him quite disconcertingly of a very angry uncle Vernon.

“Let us play the game, and play with us, and I’ll make you a wager.” The other’s attention instantly focused in on him. “If you win, I’ll do any one thing that you ask without complaint.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The dark brunet carefully wet his lips, eyes hungry and glittering with the promise of what had just been dangled so expertly in front of him. He was confident that he would win, despite never having drank before. He knew the game. Was good at picking out lies, no matter how convoluted or realistic. But there was something holding him back from pouncing on the bait like a starving Dragon.

“And if you win?” His voice was soft and slightly horse.

“I just want to play.”

For a few moments which seemed to stretch on forever Tom sat there in his throne-like chair. Considering. Attempting to work out every possible catch that could be hidden in the offer. But he’d find none.

There were none.

He was a Legilimens capable of great precision and subtlety and himself a master of lies who could con the Devil. Be he a lightweight or not, he was more confident he wouldn’t have to touch a drop.

Harry, with Felix’s help, was determined to see otherwise.

“Fine.” He relented at last. “ _After_ the meeting. Speaking of which, we should get started. Harry,” another chair appeared between Malfoy and Nott, directly opposite Tom’s position of head of the table. The perfect position in which to lock eyes with him once the game began. “Sit.”

He did as he was told. Nott gripped his shoulder, grinning widely.

“I misjudged you before, I guess. Anyone ballsy enough to nick top shelf alcohol from the Professors can be that bad.”

“Uh… Thanks.”

“I hope you know what you just got yourself into.” The sardonic voice of Malfoy came from his left, drawing his attention to the same silver eyes that Draco had. “If Tom wins-and he will win-he will make sure that you make good on your word. You put no limits on the prize he could ask for: you should have.”

“You know what he wants?”

“I can imagine, with the way he acts around you. And the way he looked at you when you put the possibility of that wager forth.”

“And?” He pressed.

“Let’s just say I hope you’re not one who values their virginity because you’re not going to win against him without a miracle.”

“As it so happens I’m rather prone to “miracles” so I think I’ll be fine.” Harry informed him coolly. A moment later it clicked what else he’d said. “Wait, how could you possibly know whether or not I’m a virgin?”

“No one with any experience has that strong of a reaction to his flirting.” Nott snorted from his other side, elbowing him lightly. “Now stuff it before he yells at us, or worse.”

If someone were to have asked him what he envisioned a Death Eater-or pre-Death Eater in this case-meeting to be like he probably would’ve predicted it taking place in some torture dungeon, or else some obscure or fully magical place like Stonehenge or some island in the middle of the Bermuda triangle and that it would involve things like Crucio dodgeball, snake charming and dancing around a bonfire. In actuality it more resembled a meeting of the American Congress, only all the attendees were teenagers patiently awaiting an impending Fire Whiskey induced blackout and much less got done, which from what he’d heard was a feat in and of itself.

By the time all of it was over Tom did indeed appear as if he could make good use of a drink or five.

Nine glasses and a bucket of ice, courtesy of the room, appeared in the center of the table and the drinks were distributed to each of them. It fell to Lestrange to explain the rules.

“Just a refresher, in case any of you has forgotten them or doesn’t know how to play Two Truths and a Lie. We’ll select someone to start and from there go in an anti-clockwise direction. When it is your turn you’ll present three pieces of personal information, two of which are true and one of which is not. It’ll be everyone else’s job to determine which is false; if they are wrong they have to take a drink, but if they get it right than you do. We stop playing when someone passes out or we run out of Fire Whiskey: whichever happens first.”

“Oh joy.” Tom grumbled as Nagini, who had finished her nap at some point during their meeting, crawled up the back of his chair.

“So,” Harry asked with a bit too much cheer, provoking a small glare from across the table, “who’s first?”

“You brought the drinks, mate.”

“Yeah, why don’t you start us off? See how good the new fish really is.”

“Fair enough.” Harry thought for a moment. “I live with my Aunt and Uncle, the first really memorable bit of magic I ever performed was when I was 11, I have no pets.”

Easy and impersonal to start with.

It bounced between the first and second answers until it got to Tom who, without even looking at him, pointed out “he has an owl you idiots.”

Harry downed his glass, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. He only paid attention to the answers that the others were putting forth, trusting the potion he’d taken to see them through the night without getting _too_ drunk. He did, however, focus on every word Tom said when it finally came around to be his turn.

“I am, through my mother, related to the founder of our House.” He said delicately. “When I was nine, a Muggle brat pushed me down the stairs and broke my neck, all three of my names-first middle and last-are taken from my worthless father.”

The wide consensus was that the second option was a lie.

“Marvolo isn’t a name that strikes me as sounding very Muggle.” Harry said. “You’ve told me that your first and last names were inherited from his, but I don’t believe all three were.”

Tom looked down at his glass as if he’d just been asked to drink liquefied Doxy droppings before reluctantly downing it. He doubled over slightly in shock and started to cough, reflexively clutching his suddenly burning throat much to the amusement of the others.

“I’ve two close friends back home, my Godfather is wanted for escaping Azkaban after first being sent there for blowing someone up, my Boggart takes the form of the Dementor.” Harry made a point to focus on Tom’s forehead so as to give the appearance of looking at him without risking meeting his eyes.

“With how popular you are here there’s no way you only have two friends back home.”

“I said two _Close_ friends, not two friends altogether. And yes my Boggart is indeed a Dementor. The lie was that my Godfather was responsible, he was wrongfully sent away after only being accused.” Harry replied with a grin. “Drink up, Tom.”

Everyone else was halfway to three sheets to the wind, a good number of them drinking regardless of whether they were right or not. Tom and Harry had been tied at three drinks each until now. This would be the dark brunette’s fourth. Fire Whiskey was strong and Tom had no tolerance-not that Harry had that much more of one himself. A flush had begun to creep up his neck and color his pale cheeks.

“I have an unrequited fear of pigeons, the hag of a matron at the hole I’m forced to return to each summer is named Miss Cole, I’ve never directly killed someone.”

Just indirectly, using the Basilisk.

“Unrequited fear of pigeons? I don’t see it.”

Tom frowned, refilling his glass and nearly dropping the bottle due to lack of coordination. “Smarmy Pratt.” Bloody hell, was that the beginnings of slurring he heard? “How are you so good at this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” He smiled angelically. Tom attempted to glare at him but couldn’t quite manage to focus his eyes correctly. “I’m a Parselmouth, my favorite color is green, A House Elf has repeatedly attempted to kill me.”

“Nice try, but I’m not that pissed.” The yet went unsaid as he reached for the bottle. “You’re not a Parselmouth; you can’t be. It’s impossible.”

He pushed the bottle across the table towards him but Nagini coiled her tail around it, flipping it back over towards him and spilling it into his glass.

“Guess again.” He hissed with an admittedly rather self-indulgent smirk. “Thanks, Nagini.”

He couldn’t be sure but it almost appeared as if she winked at him.

“How?”

“Long story. No point telling you in your state, as there’s no telling if you’ll remember it later.” Harry said. “One more round and then call it a night?”

“My favorite colors black, I nearly drowned two Muggle brats in a cave on a school trip, I’m allergic to peppermints.”

He knew it wasn’t the right answer, still he didn’t want him too far gone so he decided to give him this round. No harm, because he had a large enough lead to remain safe from their little wager.

“You’re allergic to peppermints is a lie.”

“Wrong. Drink.” He hiccuped slightly. “That’s one reason I don’t usually eat sweets.”

“One reason? What are the others?”

“Don’t you have a turn to take?”

The other seven were nearly out cold by now.

“I accidentally summoned the Knight Bus when I was trying to run away from home, Dementors make me constantly re-envision my aunt’s God-awful choice in kitchen curtains, I’ve been able to cast a corporeal Patronus since the age of 13.”

“You’d be a record breaker if that were true. I call Dragon shit.”

“You’re right, I am record breaker. Currently the youngest Wizard in Britain capable of conjuring one.” He said, nudging the bottle back towards him. “It looks like you lose, Tom.”

Once finished with his final glass he slammed it down so hard it almost broke, startling the others back to full awareness.

“So are you going to put him on the table now or do him somewhere private later?” Avery slurred, his words hardly audible.

“No one will be “doing me” here or anywhere else. He lost.”

“ _Tom_ lost?” Lestrange repeated, voice so loud that many of the others winced. “He lost and I missed it?”

“Yes, I lost. The game is over now, as is the meeting, and all of you are to be getting back to the dorm!” Irritation made him almost sound sober. “Out! All of you!”

Liquid courage aside, all seven of them knew better than to test him. Harry found himself alone with Tom-swaying slightly but able to maintain his feet-in record time. He was considering leaving himself when Tom spoke.

“I’m considering applying for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after graduation. At least for a while. Did you know that?” He asked. “Merrythought is getting up in age a great deal and will be retiring soon and I like the thought of teaching. Not to mention it would be a marvelous avenue of recruitment: children are so impressionable after all.” He chuckled.

“I’m sure you’ll get the job without any trouble.”

Tom’s demeanor did a total 180 so quickly it made him jump. “I have no chance of getting that job without being able to cast a Patronus! I’ve studied. Slaved over books and texts and lectures for hours on end. Run myself ragged trying. And nothing. _Nothing_! Not even a single puff of that blasted silver smoke! But you are telling me that you can? That you’ve been able to since you were 13?”

“I am.”

His grip on his own equilibrium slipping further as the Fire Whiskey sank its teeth deeper into him, Tom gripped the back of his chair to keep from toppling over. Dark eyes glinting. “Show me.”

Harry smiled, a strange sense of elation filling him. Almost as if he’d been waiting all night for him to ask without even realizing it. Without an ounce of hesitation he raised his wand and, with almost unnatural ease, pulled a happy memory to forefront of his mind.

“Expecto Patronum!”


	8. Your Happiest Memory

A soft light filled the room as the stag erupted from the tip of his wand, tossing its head and cantering gracefully once around the perimeter of the room before coming to a stop directly in front of Tom. The other boy stared at it, dumbstruck, almost as if he’d expected Harry to be bluffing. Then he slowly reached out with a lightly shaking hand to touch the Patronus’ neck. Long fingers passing through the silver light without resistance.

                “A stag.” He murmured quietly. “It’s a stag.”

                “It’s a stag.” Harry echoed, amused.

                Tom turned him again, backlit by the spells soft glow. “Can you teach me?”

                “Teach you?” He repeated, surprised.

                “Yes,” Tom was practically purring now, taking a less-then-graceful step forwards and nearly toppling. “Teach me. I don’t normally approach people to teach me anything. Even the Professors here have never taught me anything I haven’t already taught myself. But this, the Patronus, has escaped me. It’s all that stands between me and meeting with my current short-term goal. A boulder of sorts.” Having come as close to him as he could get without letting go of the table, he stopped. “Help me move it.”

                _The Dark Wizard should never attempt to cast a Patronus. The likelihood that they should succeed is next to zero, but should they manage it the results would be nightmarish._

                Completely disregarding the warning that Professor Lupin had given him during his third year, Harry smiled and nodded. “Sure. I’d be happy to; you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve taught to cast the charm.”

                “When can we start? The sooner the better.”

                With a soft popping sound a wardrobe appeared in the middle of the room, remaining stationary for only a moment before beginning to shake and rattle about. “How about now?”

                “We’re using _that_?”

                “It’s a Boggart, not a Blast-Ended Screwt. A nuisance, sure, but mostly harmless.” He said. “Would you rather I asked the room for a real _Dementor_?”

                “No!” He yelped, looking quite comically concerned by the suggestion. “No. A Boggart is fine. Just…Are you sure that it works the same?”

                “Need a demonstration?” He didn’t give the other a chance to reply. The lock clicked. The door swung open. The familiar cloaked figure of a Dementor swooped down at him, only to be caught on the antlers of his Patronus and thrown bodily back into the wardrobe. The door locking behind it. “Ready to give it a try?”

                “I see one problem with this, Harry. Your Boggart might be a Dementor but mine is…” He appeared to debate saying more momentarily before deciding better of it “not.”

                “I’ll wait for you to focus on a happy memory, then open the wardrobe. When you are ready to attempt casting it, just up in front of me. It won’t have time to shift if we’re quick about it.” He said. “Not that I expect you’ll be able to produce anything, even smoke, on your first try. Or your first 10 tries.”

                “I expect I’ll surprise you.” Tom shot back. “I’m sure that all I need is a teacher. That this is merely one of the few spells impossible to learn without tutelage of some sort. Who taught you?”

                “Professor Lupin, one of the tutors hired to teach me. The Dementors were around a lot on account of my godfather and, well, they affected me more than most.”

                “Did they?” His voice belied only a casual interest. “Why would that be?”

                “You should really be concentrating, Tom.”

                “I’m capable of dividing my attention between more than one activity, regardless of difficulty.” He replied easily. “I’ve never actually seen a real Dementor. What are they like?”

                “Indescribably bad.”

                “Short, curt answers.” The corners of his lips twitched. “Someone doesn’t want to play my game.”

                “We’re not here to play games, Tom. Shut up and focus or I’ll let it out without asking you.”

                The smirk was now visibly there, his white wand rolling gently from his left hand into his right and back again. “I apologize, ‘Professor’ Potter.”

                “Which of us is being ‘Smarmy’ now?”

                “Why, I am quite clearly.” Tom replied without a hint of apology in his smooth voice. “But I’m like that with all Professors.”

                “Really? And you told me I was different!”

                “Oh, you _are_ different.”

                “Don’t make me warn you again, Riddle.” Harry was aware his voice had no bite, but wasn’t about to allow his stern expression to give an inch.

                “You don’t need to, ‘Sir’. I think I’m ready.”

                “You know the incantation and proper wand movement?”

                Tom rolled his eyes. “You know better than to need to ask that question. Let it out.”

                He did. Once more the faux Dementor bore down on him but Harry made no effort to stop it. The taller boy stepped in front of him and raised his wand.

                “Expecto Patronum!”

                Nothing. His dark eyes narrowed.

                “Expecto Patronum!”

                “Tom, step back.” The Boggart was almost on top of them now. “Step back, before it changes!”

                The not-Dementor pulled to an abrupt halt in front of Tom, remaining deathly still for a fraction of a second before it began to shift. Vanishing into a twisting black mass of smoke and indistinct contortions before falling to the floorboards with a startling thump. For a good few seconds Harry couldn’t process exactly what it was he was looking at, then he realized it was a perfect double of Tom. Appearing as if it had been mauled by something massive, the doppelgänger of the other boy was lying spread-eagled and stone dead not two feet away from him.

                “Expecto Patronus!” He tried again, furiously. Futilely. Not even the slightest hint of silver could be seen. “Expecto-! Expect-! _Riddikulus!”_

                Brightly colored marbles rolled away in all directions and Tom turned his back on him, fleeing to the far corner of the room. After returning the Boggart to its wardrobe, Harry followed.

                “I think I may know what your problem is, Tom.” He said once he was close enough that he knew the other could hear him. “To cast a Patronus, you must use a memory but can’t be just any memory. It has to be a strong memory. And it can’t be connected to any time that you have hurt someone. It must be your _happiest_ memory. One that, when you think back on it, fills you with the same pure joy that you felt when it happened. That’s the only thing strong enough to repel a Dementor.”

                “No wonder I can’t do it.” He said after a long silence. “I’ll never be able to do it.”

                “Yes, you will. Just take a while to think about happy-.”

                “Do you have any idea, Harry, what the word ‘happy’ means to someone like me?” Tom demanded, rounding on him like a striking snake. “Smile. Laugh a little: enough to be convincing but not too much as you don’t want to overdo it. Watch how far your lips curve and how high the corners rise. Make sure that it reaches your eyes, if only shallowly. Blend in. Act like you understand, and feel, the same as those around you when all you really feel is numb. I don’t have any happy memories: I’ve never once in my entire life been anything close to describable as ‘happy’. I don’t _know_ what the word means; it’s nothing but a definition.”

                Anger, though perhaps not at him, smoldered within the depth of his eyes. Shoulders squared, rising and falling with his harsh breaths. Body quivering.

                “No happy memories?” He’d known all about his distaste for the idea of love. Voldemort had never made a secret of it. He never wanted it. Never felt it. Harry had, briefly and barely noticeably, felt sorry for him regarding that matter but it hadn’t stuck for very long. Not when what he saw before him was the serpentine skeletal creature that destroyed his life. But now, staring at Tom’s shockingly open eyes, his walls weakened by the Fire Whiskey he’d had, and seeing the honest resentment and pain which lay there the pity and _empathy_ was almost enough to crush him. After all, he knew what it felt like to live without happiness. “That won’t do.”

                “And what, precisely, do you propose be done about the fact?” He hissed out bitingly.

                “What do I suggest?” He was well aware of exactly how close the other was and knew it should have made him much more nervous than it did, but for some reason the warning signals simply weren’t getting through. “I suggest the two of us make our own.”

                Snake-like reaction time was one similarity that Voldemort and Tom retained. One moment the other was glaring down at him as if considering hexing him and the next he’d pounced, yanking him forwards off his feet and into his chest, mouth descending on his in a ravenous attack.

                Merlin he was _strong_! A great deal more so than his lean appearance would appear to suggest. He snarled like some sort of wild animal when Harry pried his arms loose and pushed him back.

                “You said-!”

                “I know what I said, but jumping me isn’t going to solve anything!” It came out far less snappish than he had any right to expect that it would, which worked to his advantage. “I want to help you Tom, but no matter what I do it isn’t going to work like this. You need to re-evaluate the road you’re taking. The only way that you can be happy is if you change!” He vanquished the evidence of the other’s attack with a pass of his sleeve. “I want to help you, Tom. But the first step is yours to take and I’m fully aware that I can’t make you take it. Now, I think that’s more than enough for one night.” Still shaken, he quickly sidestepped the other and vacated the room.

                Even while drunk for the first time in his life, he felt confident that Tom Riddle could take care of himself.


	9. Light and Dark

It was a good thing it was the weekend, because he couldn’t recall the last time that he had felt this bad. The sun had barely risen past the reaching branches of the Forbidden Forests’ trees, spreading its pale gray rays across the sloping grounds, Black Lake and the stone face of the Castle. Winter’s impending arrival was evident in the dropping temperature and the frost which had formed along the outer lip of the window at which he stood, halfway up the stairwell of Ravenclaw tower. Tom was grateful for the chill.

                The cold wind helped to soothe his pounding head, though he knew he’d soon have to flee to a place with softer lighting. No way in hell was he going to go anywhere near the Hospital Wing for relief to the pain, no matter how bad it was. He wasn’t going to allow the fact that he had drank underage-let alone enough to have a hangover-to get out and affect his image.

                _When he’d woken up it’d still been dark and he couldn’t have gotten much more than an hour of sleep. The dorm room was almost pitch black as the moon had since set and only the faintest glow of distant bioluminescent water plants was left to illuminate the dark waters outside the windows. The only sounds which could be heard with the occasional shifting of bed springs and the steady breathing of the room’s other occupants._

_His mouth was dry, his head felt as if he’d been struck by a troll and his body was incredibly sore and heavy. He attempted to sit up, body protesting in a way which was unfamiliar, and was rewarded for his efforts with a vicious pitching sensation that nearly made him purge the contents of his stomach over the side of his bed. Collapsing back against his pillow, wide-eyed and gasping, he lay there until the vertigo had passed and then made a second much slower effort to sit up which saw him safely upright half a minute later._

_Blind in the dark, he reached out with one hand and felt about until finally managing to catch hold of the curtains surrounding his bed and pushed them aside. Without the protection the barely there light assaulted him, sinking long talons deep into his eyes and sending white hot pain resonating through his skull. He flinched, recoiled and waited for them to adjust before attempting to venture out again._

_His bare feet brushed the cold tile floor as he swung his legs out of his bed and carefully stood up, managing to stumble the few feet separating his bed from Harry’s and poking his head through the drawn curtains. Pausing a moment to assure himself he wouldn’t be noticed and that the focus of his interest was, in fact, asleep before slithering completely through them and lowering himself gingerly on the edge of his bed. Mindful not to allow the springs to creek or the bed to dip too far._

_By the light filtering in through the slight chink left behind, Tom stared at him. Taking in the sight of his sleeping form. Vulnerable. Entirely unaware of his presence there. Committing to further memory every detail of his face. The way his ever unruly black hair scattered itself across the pillow below his head. The mysterious lightning scar on his brow, clearly formed by a dark and powerful curse. Pale lips parted slightly as he breathed slowly in and out, the curve of his back rising and falling in time._

_If he were of a mind to, all it would take to have his way with him would be a silencing charm and the element of surprise. A flick of his wand and he could finish the efforts which been thwarted the night before; around the many holes that that damned drink had left in his memory he remembered being denied. He could take him. It would be all too easy. But, despite how his fingers twitched, he wouldn’t do it._

_Taking him then might relieve his pent up frustrations but it would utterly destroy any trust the raven had in him forever: he intended to keep him at his side, and have him to himself, for the rest of his life and in order to do that trust was important. Harry had asked him to change. So he would research. He would learn. And craft for his viewing the perfect mask._

_Tom Riddle had always been good at giving people exactly what they wanted, if only to receive what he wanted in return._

_“Poor little bird.” He spoke quietly, lips curling into a smile. Fingertips tracing his features without risking touching him. “Corvi egeno mea. You think that you can save me, Precious? You’re already caught in my coils.”_

_This would potentially be the greatest project he’d ever undertaken but, he felt convinced, it would all be worth it once he had Harry irreversibly under his spell_. _But the first step was research. Anything, everything, regarding ‘love’ and ‘romance’ and ‘feelings’. Anything that could potentially assist him in the creation of a persona that would slowly and surely present to Harry what he wanted to see._

_He would be his._

                Tom had dressed quickly and struck out for the library, only to be sidetracked by the steadily intensifying pounding of his head. Now he stood beside the little window, eyes shut and forehead pressed to the cold stones. Desperately willing the pain to retreat to at least a manageable level so that he could continue to library and make use of his free time towards his newest goal.

                Something cold trickled down his back, a sensation which he was fairly familiar with by this point. Why did it have to be this tower he’d run to? Reluctantly opening his eyes and hissing in mild discomfort, he turned to face the ghost of the Grey Lady. Her long black hair fell down her back and her dress fluttered around her, eyes focused in on him with a defensive curiosity which mingled with her usual sadness.

                “Helena.”

                “Tom. What are you doing here?” Her voice was bordering on a snap. “I already told you about the Diadem, and only because you wouldn’t cease hounding me! I don’t remember where the forest-.”

                “I’m not here about that.” He cut her off, pressing his forehead back against the stone. “I didn’t even really realize where I’d wound up before you showed up, Helena.”

                “That’s uncharacteristic of you.” Her obvious amusement grated on his nerves. “Speaking of uncharacteristic of you, I-despite my preference for isolation-have been hearing rumors, Tom. Rumors of a new student, a Slytherin who has made friends in all four houses. A student who you seem strangely interested in. Protective of. Almost like-.”

                “ _A Niffler with a bloody trinket, yes I know!”_ He snarled. “I’ve heard it all before.”

                The Grey Lady blinked at him ruefully. “You’re hung over.”

                “Maybe slightly.” Tom groaned in reply.

                “The Head Boy of Slytherin? Drinking? My word, I expected better of the ‘great’ Tom Riddle.” She cackled. “You won’t dare go to the hospital wing: would rather suffer through it than risk besmirching your image. I’ll leave you to wrestle with that headache.”

                He found himself thankful when she had finally disappeared. Women and ghosts had always been two things he thought to be annoying; a ghost which was also a woman was almost intolerable. And though Helena Ravenclaw had been useful in confirming the existed of Rowena’s Diadem-one of the four legendary items of the Founders of Hogwarts which he dreamed of having as a vessel for a portion of the soul-her aid in finding it had been lackluster at best.

                Albania was a smaller search zone then ‘lost to time’ but was still far too great of an area to cover than he currently had time for. Maybe, once he had his green eyed prize, Harry could assist him in locating it.

                _This isn’t going to go away. Will probably only get worse._ His short nails scraped softly down the ragged stone. _I can’t afford to be lain up all day; have to get at least something done. If I’m quick about it I should be able to pick up a few usable things and make it back to my bed before the pain becomes debilitating._

                Managing to make his way back down the stairs without losing his footing Tom headed for the library as quickly as he could manage in his state. Charming people he could do. Sex he knew about. But how to appropriately romance people and how to fall in and continue to act as if he were in “love” where the subjects about which he needed to know more.

                He could, he supposed, take the easy route and employ the use of magic to enchant his raven into wanting him but a spell wasn’t sporting and he would _never_ in a million years stoop so low as to ever once consider using a love potion. He loved the thrill of the hunt too much. Annoying as his hippogriff-like stubbornness could be at times, he got too much of a rush from their interactions to subdue him to his will in such an unnatural manner.

                He didn’t want to dull his personality. To lower the worth of the precious gem that he was: the only person who would dare to butt heads with him on even the most minor of issues.

                No. Tom intended to do this the old-fashioned way, making use of his impeccable acting skills. He’d pull out all the stops to sweep Harry off his feet, make it so that he couldn’t differentiate between up-and-down any longer, until all he could see was the dark truth of how broken the world was. Until he wanted to help him fix it.

                The Restricted Section would only contain magics to seduce him with, so Tom avoided the area completely. Perusing the shelves instead in search of anything which might be even mildly helpful. By the time he retreated to the most shadowed table in the library his haul included such books as _The Compendium of Draconic Courting Rituals, Why Merpeople Sing,_ and a badly tattered copy of _Immortalia_ which was little more than a Muggle-written rag.

                Contorting himself so that he was partially under the table, allowing even more light to be avoided, he opened the first book to a random page.

**Hungarian Horn Tail:**

**Male Hungarian Horn Tails during the annual rutt become even more aggressive than during the rest of the year. They will fight to the death in order to prove themselves to the female of the species, who may still devour them if their flame fails to reach a certain length.**

Not helpful. Not only could he not breathe fire he also doubted Harry would be pleased if he were to start squaring up to his annoying little friends. Or that he would eat him if he didn’t prove to be satisfactory in the fight. He turned to another page.

**Antipodean Opal Eye:**

**Known be the most beautiful of all dragons, the Antipodean Opal Eye-native to New Zealand and parts of Australia-also possesses one of the most stunning courting displays in the entirety of the magical world. During mating season, the wings of the males-normally an opalescent gray-transform into a vibrant array of vivid colors in much the same way as a peacock’s tail. Wings spread wide, the males engage in an agile dance in hopes of catching the female’s fancy.**

                Fancy footwork he could handle, of course he didn’t much like the thought of considering it while even simply walking made him ill.

**Chinese Fireball:**

**Unlike most Dragon species, the male Chinese Fireball is smaller and less dominant than the female. Though known to be unusually tolerant of its own kind, at least by Dragon standards, the male must still tread carefully while in the presence of a female in heat. In seeking to ingratiate themselves with their potential mates, they’ll bring them gifts of fresh kills and precious jewels; commonly gold and jade.**

                Courting gifts? Noted.

                Resurfacing from below the table, he exchanged _The Compendium of Draconic Courting Rituals_ for _Why Merpeople Sing_ and quickly hid himself away from the light once more.

**Merpeople sing for many reasons, and have many different songs, but perhaps the most important out of all of them-at least for the males of the species-is the courting song. During mating season mermaids build nests within large fields of water plants and chase off any other Merpeople who attempt to come near. A male seeking access to the female must sing; they compete amidst their own kind with their courting songs and whichever male is determined to be the best singer will be allowed to join her in the nest.**

                It might be funny, if nothing else, to see Harry’s reaction to suddenly finding himself being serenaded in the dorm room. Tom smirked, then winced as a new stab of pain flared through his head. With some reluctance he reached for _Immortalia_ and opened it.

                Experienced or not, he hadn’t been prepared for what was practically written porn. Tom quickly close the book and shoved it under both of the others, his face tingling with a slight warmth that likely heralded a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

                “There you are, Tom.”

                The voice from behind him caused him to jump, bumping the back of his head on the bottom of the table and worsening his headache. He straightened up quickly, carding a hand through his dark curls as a subtle way of probing experimentally at the back of his head. “Abelia.” He vaguely recalled the first name of the girl, a fellow 6th year from his own house. “What-?”

                The wrapped box she thrust into his face cut him off; Tom nearly went cross eyed trying to look at it. “I heard about your little hangover problem, and being Head Boy I figured that you wouldn’t go to the Hospital Wing for relief. These will help you sleep it off.”

                Tom looked from the box to her smiling face and back again before taking it. “Thank you, Abelia.” He rose to his feet and tucked it under his arm, the edges of his vision swimming from the ever increasing pain. “I think I’ll be heading back to bed now.”

                He left quickly, practically swaying on his feet as the halls morphed and twisted and the moving staircases warped into circular tunnels.

Help him with his hangover? Did she think he was stupid? Or gullible, perhaps? No one extended acts of charity without intending to receive something in return, and he would never eat anything he hadn’t either made himself or was able to trace to its source. Tempting as the potential relief it could provide may be, he wasn’t about to risk taking any chances.

After dropping the box onto one of the tables-let someone else deal with the consequence of whatever the hell was in it-he turned his attention to the small group of boys in the corner; not his inner circle, but still those who would obey if given a direct order.

“Zabini!” The Italian immediately looked up at him. “Run to the Hospital Wing, now, and get me a Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

“Yes, Sir.” He bolted out of the common room, returning maybe ten minutes later with a vial in hand. He passed it to him. “Here, Tom.”

“Thank you, Zabini.” He headed up to the dorm, took the potion and collapsed onto the bed.

Blissful unconsciousness.

He didn’t know how long he was out before someone was shaking him. Violently. Clutching too hard at his shoulder with a shaking hand, fingers biting through fabric hard enough to bruise the skin beneath. His eyes opened, lips curling back into a snarl.

“ _What, Nott?”_ He practically roared at him. Fingers twitching. Reaching for his wand. He’d been sleeping, had finally escaped the hangover which hadn’t fully receded yet. The other boy, from the look on his face, quite obviously knew he was a hair’s breath away from being put under the Cruciartus Curse. “You had better have a bloody damn good reason for waking me up!”

“I do! Tom, it’s… He’s acting strange.”

“Acting strange? What do you mean acting strange?”

“I don’t… It’s… He won’t… Avery and Lestrange practically had to tackle him-he fights like a Gryffindor.”

“ _Who_ Nott?” He demanded, the others panic seriously grating on his already raw nerves. “Look at me!”

The other’s wild eyes shot up to his and, after taking another moment to compose himself, managed to croak “Harry.”


	10. Spiked Cauldrons

                Tom thundered down the dormitory stairs, taking them three at a time, and ultimately flung himself from the fifth step into the common room below. His dark eyes ricocheted around the room, landing first on the group of gathered Slytherins and then on Harry. His raven was pinned down to one of the couches by Avery and Lestrange, flailing and clawing despite the fact that his small form was practically buried beneath those of the two larger boys.

                “Let go of me! Let go!” He yelled, nearly throwing Lestrange free and onto the floor.

                “What happened? He demanded, attracting the eyes of all who weren’t busy pinning their thrashing classmate in place. “This isn’t normal behavior for him. If we’re going to calm him down and fix this I need to know what’s wrong: speak!”

                “It started when Malfoy found the unlabeled box lying around.” Mulciber said. “He hates chocolate cauldrons, so when he found out that was what it was in the box he wanted nothing to do with it: said anyone who wanted them could have them. Harry ate one and started acting weird.”

                “Screaming and thrashing; talking nonsense first. He tried to leave the common room and when we moved to stop him he went bloody ballistic!”

                “Box of chocolate cauldrons?” Tom repeated, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

                “You can’t keep us apart: none of you understand!” Harry howled. “Let! Me! Go! _Abelia!_ ”

                “Yeah.” Lestrange called, readjusting his grip. “It’s over there, on that table.”

                Tom turned his head to look, quickly determining that the offending box was indeed the same he been given earlier that day. He quickly crossed towards it, glaring down at the neat rows of chocolate cauldrons winking innocently back up at him. Examination of the lid explained that they were Honey-Dukes in make and filled with cherry liquor.

 _Cherry liquor? Right, and I’m Merlin himself._ Ripping one out, he impaled in on his wand: the tip came out dripping with a thick pearl-sheen liquid. His eyes narrowed as he brought the foreign substance closer to his face. His fear was confirmed by the familiar mix of parchment, serpents and Harry.

                “Damn her.” He growled.

                “You know what’s wrong with him?” Goyle asked from his right shoulder.

                “Yes. I do.” Tom dropped the cauldron to the floor and crushed it beneath his heel. “Amortentia.” Wiping the tip of his wand on the other’s robes he pointed it at the box. “Incendio!”

                It erupted into flames.

 _Now that those vile things are taken care of._ He crossed the room once more, the gathered group parting before him. “Avery! Lestrange! Release him!”

                The pair exchanged a somewhat disbelieving glance before doing as they’d been told.

                “Harry,” he purred sweetly, “would you like to see Abelia? I can take you to her if you’d like.”

                The other lurched towards him, grabbing the front of his robes and yanking him forward so they were nearly nose to nose. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll break your face.”

                _Stupid potion._ Tom stared into the green eyes he so adored, having to force the small muscles of his face not to twitch as the flames of jealousy licked across his skin. “I would never lie to you. Shall I take you to her now?”

                He released him and stepped back, nodding in approval. “Yes. I want to see her. Immediately.”

                “Right this way.” Resting a careful hand on his shoulder he led him out of the common room and into the halls. “At current, she’s assisting Professor Slughorn to sort ingredients in his office.”

                This seemed to satisfy him for the time being and he dutifully followed him towards the Potion’s Master’s office. When Slughorn answered the door, dressed in night clothes, he looked quite confused. Both to see them there and about why Harry was up on his toes trying to peer around him.

                “Mr. Riddle, Mr. Potter.” He said. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

                “In all honesty Professor, no.”

                “Where is she? I can’t see her!”

                Both glanced at the raven again.

                “What happened to Mr. Potter?”

                Tom sighed. “You see, that’s why we’re here. Chocolate cauldrons spiked with stolen Amortentia.” He replied. “They were intended for me, but I don’t eat anything the origins of which I can’t be sure of.”

                “Oh, well,” he shuffled aside, “best bring him in here. I’ll whip up an antidote.”

                Tom escorted Harry through the door and over to a couch.

                “Where is she, Tom? You told me that she was here!”

                “So sorry, dear boy. She had to step out for a moment to run a bit of an errand. Will be back in two shakes of an owl’s tail.” Slughorn plodded over to him and handed him a cup.

                Harry looked at it suspiciously. “What is this?”

                “Nerve tonic.” Tom supplied.

                “But I don’t need this. I’m not afraid of her!”

                “Even if you don’t ‘need it’ it will still help, trust me. Drink.”

                He continued to eye it a few moments more before reluctantly downing the draft. A moment later he was looking around in confusion.

                “Uh, Tom…” He said, blinking at him from behind his glasses, “where are we?”

                “Slughorn’s office.” Tom told him.

                “What happened?”

                “I was given spiked cauldrons but wasn’t dumb enough to eat them: I probably should’ve done more to dispose of them before this happened, so I’ll admit partial fault, but you really should know better than to eat anything you see.”

                “You’re more paranoid than a Nargle. Did you know that?”

                “I didn’t think they were poisoned, idiot, just that they might be filled with some love potion or another! And I was right!”

                “Glad that makes you feel validated.” This elicited a frown from Tom and a chuckle from their Professor. “Thank you, Sir, for helping me.”

                “Of course, because recognizing what was wrong with you and taking you for help doesn’t deserve an ounce of recognition.”

                Harry smirked. “Thank you, Tom, for saving me from some ‘horrible fate’.”

                “Keep taking that tone and I’ll reconsider next time.” He grumbled. “Now I think we’ve imposed on his hospitality for long enough. We should head back to the dorms,” he gestured towards the clock which hung on the wall, “it’s past midnight.”

                “Yeah. Returning to the dorms sounds like a good idea.” He pushed himself up off of the couch and onto his feet only to almost collapse. Alarmed, Tom propped him up with his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Guess I’m just a bit more tired than I expected that I’d be.” The raven replied.

“With all the thrashing you were doing I’m honestly not surprised.”

“Oh, I’m sure he put up quite a fight but his exhaustion has more to do with the antidote; it can make one a little woozy.” Slughorn explained with another laugh. “He’ll be right as rain once he’d slept it off.”

The dark brunet looked down at Harry, still leaning against him in order to remain upright, and sighed.

“Come on, then.” He pulled one of his arms around his shoulders and escorted him back through the halls towards the common room. “I hope that this teaches you better than to go eating anything that you find just lying around, Harry. It could be something worse than a miss aimed love potion next time: Veritaserum or poison.”

“I didn’t know that they were ‘just lying around’.” He said. “Didn’t even know that the box was there until Abraxas said something: an open invitation to anyone who wanted one since he said he hated chocolate cauldrons. I assume that he received them in the post from his parents or something.”

Tom shook his head, taking advantage of the position to hold the other boy closer. Basking in the warmth of his body where it pressed into his side and the simmering possessiveness which stretched itself like a massive cat beneath his skin. “That box wasn’t sent to Abraxas by his parents. It wasn’t sent to Abraxas by anyone at all.” He rested one of his hands gently on the back of the other’s neck, pleased to find that Harry seemed to relax into his touch. “It was meant for me; she tried to trick me into eating them while I was in the library earlier.”

This fact didn’t surprise him much at all; he was well aware of how every woman in the school-and even some of the men, admittedly at times including himself-looked at Tom. “What were you doing in the library on a Saturday?”

Laying the groundwork of a great deception. “Unsuccessfully attempting to complete a Muggle Studies paper while suffering from my first-ever hangover. Thank you for that positively marvelous experience, by the way.”

“Sarcasm?”

“What do you think?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Tom barked the password at the wall. It opened and they returned to the warmth of the Slytherin common room. The others had remained gathered there and all attention was on them the instant the pair were fully through the door.

“Everything’s fine. Slughorn gave him the antidote: Harry will be back to normal tomorrow morning once he’s had the chance to sleep.” He informed them, not stopping or even looking over.

“Don’t you think that’s rather rude, Tom?” Came the other’s sleepy murmur.

“I couldn’t care less; my concern for the moment is you, Precious.” Tom half dragged him up the dormitory stairs and set him down in his bed. “Get some rest, you need it. I’ll tell the others not to disturb you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Off the grounds.” He told him. “I have an errand to run and it’s important that I surprise him before he gets any customers.”

“You’re reluctant to drink but you’ll bugger off in the middle of the night without batting an eye?”

“I’m a Prefect.”

“You’ll still get in trouble.”

“A risk I have to take. It’s an important personal matter regarding the recovery of a highly valuable family heirloom.” Harry’s eyes rested momentarily on the ring on his finger. Catching the motion, Tom nodded. “It has a companion. It’s important that I ambush its current ‘owner’-though I’d hardly call him that-when he’s not expecting it and hasn’t had the time to prepare.”

“Wait.”

“Harry-.”

“No, really.” He scrambled quickly back out of bed, nearly falling in the course of the effort, and headed around to his trunk. “I have some things that’ll help you, but you can’t let anyone else see them and you can’t tell anyone else about them.”

“I swear on my wand and magic that I won’t.” The tone of his voice made it clear he was only half serious.

Harry resurfaced from his trunk and held up both items for him to see. Tom raised an eyebrow. “A traveling cloak and a piece of parchment?” He actually sounded mildly annoyed. “I have my own cloak and I won’t be doing any writing.”

“I doubt that your cloak is quite like mine.” Throwing it over himself, he promptly disappeared.

Tom’s jaw very nearly hit the floor. “Galloping gargoyles, Harry! You didn’t say it was an invisibility cloak!”

Smirking, Harry reappeared. “I wanted to see your reaction: it wouldn’t have been as good if it wasn’t a surprise. It’s a family heirloom.”

“It is?” But that made no sense. Human made invisibility cloaks were created by weaving Demiguise hairs into a normal traveling cloak, but they lost their power over the course of years of use as the hairs became more opaque. There is only one cloak said to last forever.

Acting quickly Tom cast a wandless silent summoning charm. The cloak, still semi-wrapped around his shoulders, didn’t so much as twitch. He felt his eyes widen.

“Death’s cloak.”

“What?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Nothing.” Tom cleared his throat and pointed at the parchment. “What is that really, then?”

Setting the cloak on the bed beside him Harry tapped the folded parchment with the tip of his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink bloomed across the yellow parchment, curling into elegant hand and graceful script.

**Messrs.**

**MOONY, WORMTAIL, PADFOOT & PRONGS**

**are proud to present**

**_The Marauder’s Map_ **

                “Where did you get this?” Tom asked him softly, staring in awe as Harry open the map. A detailed depiction of the school from top to bottom was revealed, including secret passageways which he had thought only he knew about and even some he didn’t know existed. “It’s incredible.”

“My father made it when he went here with three of his friends.” There was a hint of sadness to his voice when he spoke, watching Tom follow the tiny label which read Dumbledore with his eyes as it paced in his office. “He was Prongs.”

“An odd nickname. Know the story behind it?”

He nodded. “Moony was a werewolf; he had to keep his condition hidden or he’d be expelled or worse. He couldn’t control himself under the moon’s influence, so they decided to help him. Werewolves don’t attack attack animals out right, only humans.”

“So they became Animagus?”

“Unregistered, illegal, but yes. Padfoot, my Godfather. Prongs, my father. Wormtail-.”

Tom didn’t miss the venomous hatred which flashed across the other’s face. “You do not much like this ‘Wormtail’ do you?”

“I hate him. He’s the reason my parents are dead!” Glittering with rage, the color of Harry’s eyes precisely matched that of the Killing Curse. He couldn’t help but find it fitting. “He may not have been the one to do it, but he sold them out to the bastard who did!”

“So Moony was a werewolf? From the nickname Wormtail, I’m assuming he was a rat? Padfoot… A canine of some sort. And Prongs,” he tilted his head slightly to one side, “was a stag. Your father. That’s why your Patronus looks that way.”

Harry didn’t answer him.

“We’ll hunt him down together, Harry. Wormtail, and the one he answers to: both will know the agony that is Lord Voldemort’s disfavor.”

“Why would what he’s done make any difference to you, Tom?” He grumbled, flopping back onto his bed.

“Because I don’t take kindly to those who harm that which I’ve claimed as mine. Now I really should be going.” With cloak and map in hand he turned to leave only to stop upon realizing he’d forgotten to ask about important information. “One moment, how do I turn this off?”

“Tap it with your wand and say ‘mischief managed’.” Words barely coherent with how quickly he was falling sleep.

“Thank you, Harry.” He actually meant it, the items he’d been lent were useful. “I’ll have them back to you by tomorrow; if you’re not awake when I return, which I doubt you will be, they’ll be in your trunk.”

Judging by the quiet snores now issuing from the other boy that last bit hadn’t been heard. Unable to keep a small smile from touching his lips, Tom shrunk both items and set them in his pocket before proceeding down the stairs. To his surprise he was abruptly confronted by Avery.

“I’m aware that I’m being disrespectful by doing this, go ahead and curse me for it, I don’t care! I need answers Tom.”

The dark brunet was too confused by his words to properly process the fact that he was being questioned by one of his followers. Something he usually did not allow. “I don’t follow, Avery. Answers about what?”

“Are you in love with that runt?”

 _“He’s not a runt!”_ His words were edged with razors.

“Potter, then.” The other amended, exasperated. “Are you in love with him? Is that what all of this is about? Are you going to let the Knights-everything you’ve promised us, everything we’ve worked for-fall by the wayside because of _him_?”

“In love with him?” He repeated. “I’m aware that none of you are the sharpest tool in the box, I didn’t exactly recruit any of you for your ability to think after all, but I didn’t think any of you could possibly be _that_ stupid. I want him for his body. I want him for his power. I want him for his fire. I don’t want him for ‘love’ or anything else of the sort; did you really delude yourself that I’d suddenly sprouted a heart?”

Avery averted his eyes. “I’d hoped not.”

“Never fear.” He softened his tone and forced his eyes to warm. “He will be the crown jewel of my Empire. Will keep me company in eternity as I shepherd our world to salvation. But in order to make him mine, mine beyond all going back in both body and soul, he needs to be under the belief that I’ve given him a heart that I never possessed in the first place. What’s a little acting to get what you want?”

“Par for the course.”

“Precisely.” He purred indulgently. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve something important to do.”

Avery stepped out of Tom’s way, allowing the other to continue past him and out of the common room. Once in the hallway he returned both the map and cloak to their original size and threw the cloak over his shoulders. It barely came down to his knees. Hell even Harry, who was at least a head shorter than him, probably had to crouch in order to hide himself beneath it completely.

“Lumos.” The tip of his wand flared to life like a torch. Tom glanced down at the map, checking to make sure that he wasn’t about to run into anyone better left avoided, then headed towards the nearest secret passageway. Taking it out to a well-hidden exit concealed behind a large bush. Scanning the area on the map a final time he tapped it once, whispered “mischief managed” and tucked it away again. Tom set out at a brusque pace across the slopping grounds, ignoring his own shivering as he charted a course for Hogs-Meade Village.

The moment he was out of the anti-apparition wards he pivoted on the spot. Space collapsing silently in on him, crushing his chest, forcing the air from his body, grinding him into little more than dust before hastily reassembling him in another place.

At nearly two AM Diagon Alley was as quiet as a graveyard, but still Tom did not remove the cloak. Moving nearly at a run, now, and mindful of his every step he darted down the street a good distance before changing direction and heading down a dingy back road to another, much darker but equally deserted drag.

Knockturn Alley.

Pausing just long enough to assure himself that he truly was as alone as he believed, Tom remove the cloak and hid it away before striding confidently forwards. Grip never loosening from around his wand. He stopped outside the darkened storefront of Borgin and Burkes and hastily pointed it at the lock.

“Alohamora.” With a quiet click, the door swung open. He immediately stepped inside, closing it softly behind him, and rushed to the jewelry case. Pressing his face against the cool glass. Eyes flashing across various enchanted rings and cursed necklaces before landing on exactly what he was looking for. His mother’s locket was still there.

“Riddle. I should’ve known it was you.” The voice of the storeowner made him straighten up, dark eyes flinty and cold. “I already made myself clear. You want my locket, you’ll pay me 50,000 galleons. If you can’t-and I know you can’t, you’re a penniless wash up who’s far too arrogant for his own good-get out. I’ve a _real_ client coming for it in four hours.”

“That is _not_ your locket.” He snarled. “You have no right to sell it to anyone! You acquired it through robbery: only paid 10 galleons. My mother was desperate and pregnant and you preyed on that fact!”

“As if you wouldn’t have.” The man snapped back from behind the case. “Now get out before I-.” He suddenly found himself with a wand leveled directly between his eyes. “Don’t jest, Tom. You’re too spineless.”

“Am I?”

“I lease a lot in Knockturn Alley; I work with _real_ Dark Wizards for a living. Why don’t you make a threat that a child like you can keep, like telling the Ministry I’m trading in Hands of Glory?”

Tom threw back his head and laughed, the tight wound reedy heckle nearly enough to cause the large front window to ice over. When he refocused his gaze there must have been something in his face, some shadow in his eyes, that alerted the shopkeeper to the mistake that he had made because the man immediately paled.

                “You think that blowing the whistle to the Ministry of Magic is the worst that I can do to you?” He hissed furiously. “I killed my own father, last summer. My grandparents too. And framed my uncle for it; he’ll die in Azkaban. Not a real Dark Wizard? The Devil stands before you!” Tom took a moment to relish the obvious terror of the other man through his own fury. “Give me my locket. Now. And in repayment, I’ll allow your insults to the future _King_ of this world to go unpunished. This time.”

                “… …”

                Fear was a powerful motivator, but so was greed. He wanted the locket. Badly. Not only was it _rightfully_ his and one of his intended Horcruxes but he had another more intimate use for it now. A gift of not only high-value but personal significance would serve as the clincher of his act.

                “What holds greater importance to you? 50,000 galleons or your life?”

                That seem to put it into perspective for him. “Fine.” Pulling a ring of enchanted keys from his belt he unlocked the case and removed the locket, reluctantly handing it over. “Here.”

                Tom took it without a moment of hesitance and tucked it away in the safety of his robes. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He turned to go, but paused part of the way through the door. “Oh, and Caractacus,” the angle at which the faint light from outside caught his eyes caused them to glow red. “Next time, you will address me as Lord Voldemort.”

                Leaving the stunned shopkeeper to count his losses, Tom vanished back into the night with a flick of his robes.


	11. Likes and Dislikes

Once again, Tom found himself staring at Harry’s sleeping form. It was nearing breakfast and he sat, fully dressed, on the edge of his bed with his hands folded in his lap. Watching him. Fingers worrying at the smooth back of the locket’s heavy golden clasp. He could imagine how it would look on him, the gold contrasting with his hair and skin tone and the emeralds which formed the serpentine S reflecting the color of his stunning eyes.

                Diary. Ring. Locket. Diadem. Cup. Sword. Six Horcruxes for a soul split into seven pieces. Seven, the most sacred magical number of all. He would give the diary to one of his followers to look after. Would hide the ring in the moldering hut once inhabited by his relatives. Would place another-likely the sword-in the sea cave where he’d left those two Muggle brats traumatized and would allocate hiding places for the others as he found them. But the locket would be special.

                He would enchanted it for protection, and hang it from his raven’s throat. Would trust him not merely to guard it in a vault within Gringotts but to wear it each day. Keep it close. Twist the chain around his fingers. Clutch the clasp in his palm. Find comfort in the part of him which lived within while he was away.

                He’d need to box it soon. Wrap it, too. It wouldn’t be a proper gift otherwise.

                Checking the time he got to his feet, drew the curtains that the other had left open the night before closed with a flick of his wand, then left the dorm and headed down to the Great Hall with his Knights on his heels.

                “What were you off doing last night, Tom? Out of interest?”

                Despite the insults Burke had hurled at him the night before things seem to be going his way and because of this he was in a mood to indulge the question.

                “I was out seeing to a personal errand, and successfully reacquired the lost property of my family.” He replied, lowering himself onto the bench. The others filled in on either side of him. Tom couldn’t help but be annoyed that none of them bothered to leave a space on his right. “It will be of great use to me soon, but that’s a matter about which none of you need to know.”

                Understanding the veiled order for what it was, his Circle did not attempt to question him further. Tom grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit sitting on the table in front of him without looking at it and scanned the Gryffindor table which stood against the far wall of the Great Hall. Eyes zeroing in on the man he was looking for amongst a sea of red and gold almost immediately.

                Despite how exhausted Harry was on account of the antidote he’d taken, Tom had no way of knowing how long the other would be asleep; he knew that he only had so much time to work with and was determined to make every second of it count towards his ends. Waiting until the focus of his interest appeared to be finished with his food he rose from the table, stuffed another apple into his pocket, barked “stay” at some of the others when they began to move to follow him, and swept around the end of the Slytherin table.

Those seated at the ends of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables quieted down considerably and watched him as he passed. Very few people at the Gryffindor table spared him a glance, and those few who did watched with cautious suspicion as he moved amongst them. He may have noticed, and been amused by, the way the first years huddled together as if he were a Dragon or some other murderous creature that was passing by rather than a fellow student had he not been so distracted. And maybe he’d have noticed her before she appeared in his path, obstructing his vision and preventing him from continuing further.

“Minerva.” He kept his voice carefully neutral and calm but his dark eyes narrowed. Tom used his slight hide advantage to glare imperiously down at her, but the Gryffindor Prefect refused to give ground.

“Thomas.” Her voice was equally cold. He managed to restrain any reaction to her use of the full name he hated so much. “You seem to have wandered to the wrong side of the Hall. You have no power in Gryffindor House and unlike those in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw we are _not_ afraid of you.”

“Really?” He turned his head slightly from one side to the other, taking in the assembled might of Lion House. Most refused to look up from their plates. Those who did could only keep up a pitiful semblance of a glare for a couple of seconds before discovering the universe’s secrets to be ingrained in the surface of the table in front of them. “I couldn’t tell.”

She turned as red as the lining of her robes with chagrin, but before she could speak again another voice sounded from behind her.

“Riddle,” Kenny had gotten up from his seat and was now doing an admirable job of staring him down, “if you’re here because of Harry let me make it very clear to you that I will not be intimidated into cutting ties with him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” he simpered, admiring the blatant shock which spread across his face. “Friends are important to him and he is important to me. I only want to see him happy; all chasing you off would do is put me in the doghouse before I could even get anywhere. I haven’t come for territorial posturing, Weasley. I’ve come to request that I be allowed a word with you?”

He made sure to edge the words with just enough authority to make it quite clear refusal was not an option. Kenny glanced at Minerva as if expecting her to help him.

“She can’t rightfully prevent me from engaging you in civil conversation.”

“Knowing you it won’t remain civil for long.” She spat.

“I’ll behave as long as he does. If you’d like to mediate you’re welcome to, I’m merely engaging him in a good-natured banter regarding a mutual friend.”

For Minerva McGonagall ‘good-natured’ and ‘Tom Riddle’ clearly did not compute.

“I’ll get Professor Dumbledore.” She informed Kenny, hurrying off.

“Oh joy. We’ll be in the hallway. Do tell him to bring along some of that awful Muggle candy he so adores, we’ll make it a picnic.” He sneered. “You, come along.”

Resigned, Kenny sent one last look at the safety of his seat before following him out of the Great Hall. Tom stopped at the base of the staircase and leaned against the stone railing, taking a moment to examine him while determining what to say.

“You’d better hurry up, Riddle.”

“Why? Have an appointment?” He asked sharply. “Or maybe you are referencing the fact that Minerva has gone and run to Albus Dumbledore? He can’t stop me from speaking to you, unless I hit you-such methods are disgustingly Muggle and quite below one of Slytherin’s line-or pull my wand which I’ve no intention of doing.”

“Just ask your questions and leave me alone!”

Tom bared his teeth but kept his voice level. “Tell me everything you can about Harry.”

This clearly took him by surprise. “You mean you don’t know anything about him?”

“Don’t suggest I’m uninformed.”

“If you weren’t you wouldn’t be asking me.”

“Full name: Harry James Potter. 16 years old. Received an E on his potions O.W.L.s. Best class is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Can cast a corporeal Patronus in the shape of a stag: has been able to since the age of 13 and was taught by one Professor Lupin. Was homeschooled until this year by his aunt and uncle who he was taken in by after his parents were murdered, sold out by a friend of his father’s whom he refers to as ‘Wormtail’. His wand is supple, 11 inches exactly in length, made of Holly wood and has a Phoenix feather core. It’s also brother to my own.” He pushed his bangs back from his face with a casual pass of his hand. “That’s not the kind of information that I’m after; whenever he and I talk, it always seems to devolve into a contest over which of us can rile the other up the most in the shortest amount of time.”

“Then what are you after?”

“His likes and dislikes.” Tom replied. “I want to know what he talks about with other people.”

“And what would you want that information for?” The doors of the Great Hall opened to allow both Minerva and Dumbledore out into the hall as well. Tom paid them only enough attention to comfortably assure himself neither would interfere before he answered the other.

“Is it so wrong to want to know someone better, Weasley? So please, anything you can offer me would be of great help. Hobbies. Favorite food. Even his favorite color would be a start.”

“Whatever manipulation you’re planning to pull on him I refuse to play any part in it Riddle!” Kenny snapped at him. “Harry is a person, not a toy: I don’t want to see him turned into another of your drooling sycophants. He doesn’t _belong_ to you!”

Tom pushed off the banister with a swift twitch of his foot, smirking at the immediate stiffening of both Kenny and Minerva and the sharpening of Dumbledore’s gaze as he lazily drew closer.

“You’re right. He doesn’t belong to me.” Sidestepping around him at the last possible moment and purposely colliding roughly with his shoulder, Tom began to walk back towards the Slytherin common room. “Yet.”

“I don’t know what he sees in that arrogant Pratt.” He grumbled, rubbing is now aching arm. “I keep telling him to drop him, to avoid him and that he’s dangerous, but Harry won’t listen. Not only that he seems out to push his buttons: if I didn’t know any better, with his lack of any self-preserving instinct whatsoever, I’d swear he was a part of _our_ House.”

“I warned him too, Kenny.” Minerva said. “But it’s almost as if he doesn’t care that he’s dealing with a monster; like he wants to get bit by that serpent of a man.”

“I think that both of you worry too much.” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Harry knows what he is doing-has a reason for it-and whatever his goals are he’s playing his cards expertly as of now.”

“He’s holding a Dragon by the tail, Sir.”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley, he is. But nothing good comes without considerable risk. He’s using Mr. Riddle’s obsessive nature against him, unraveling him with it little by little and all without having to lift a finger.” He shook his head. “Poor Tom doesn’t fully realize that he’s locked horns with the epitome of what he claims is powerless. I might feel sorry for him if it weren’t for his own good.”

“Serpents may shed their skin, Professor Dumbledore, but they don’t change their scales.”

“I think young Mr. Potter knows Mr. Riddle a great deal more intimately than we do. Every weapon he needs to dismantle ‘Lord Voldemort’ Tom will hand to him himself.”

“What makes you think that, Sir?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely at the pair. “Just a feeling.” He said. “Now, it’s a Sunday. I’m sure that both of you have better things to be doing than standing in the hallway. Like putting off homework until the last possible moment?”

Kenny flushed red with embarrassment. “Oh, I just remembered that I need to write a letter to my… Um… Aunt!” He scurried off quickly in the opposite direction of the owlry.

Minerva tsked. “I told him to start on that paper three days ago.” She said with a sigh. “Sorry about disturbing you, Sir, but with Tom’s track record-.”

“No need to apologize,” he told her airilly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to my office before Fawkes gets it into his head to eat all of my lemon sherberts again.”

As her head of house walked away as well Minerva sighed and returned to the Great Hall for the last few minutes of breakfast.

 

Harry ran into Tom as he was coming up the dormitory stairs, almost tripping on the laces of his shoes which he had left untied in his haste to get down to breakfast but managing to catch himself on the banister at the last possible moment. The other chuckled at him, his near tumble not having escaped his notice.

“In a hurry, are we?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to get down to breakfast-.”

“It ended two minutes ago, Precious.” He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the second apple. “I took initiative, figuring that you might be awake and want to eat something by the time I got back up here. Should be enough to tide you over until lunch: if not we can stop by the kitchens later.”

“Thanks.” Taken off guard, Harry took the offered apple from his hand.

“Of course. I take care of what belongs to me.” The raven rolled his eyes but didn’t speak to oppose him, likely realizing it would only be a waste of breath. He instead took the time to bite into the apple he’d be given. “I’m headed to the library to make another attempt at that paper for Muggle Studies now that my hangover has gone away and would be most appreciative if you’d join me.”

“Join you?” Harry repeated, changing direction in order to follow Tom back up the stairs. “Are you sure I won’t be too much of a distraction?”

“I can talk and work at the same time. It would do little to affect my productivity.” He replied, though it was clear from the curl of his lips that the double entendre hadn’t escaped him. Tom opened his trunk and began searching through it for the necessary parchment quills and ink. “You’re not busy?”

“Not particularly.” Harry said. “About my cloak and map-.”

“They’re in your trunk, as promised. Did you not see them?”

Admittedly, in the rush that he’d been in he hadn’t really stopped to look. “No.”

“Well, they’re there Precious.” Pulling out his wand Tom flicked it at Harry’s trunk, causing the lid to fly open. “See for yourself.”

The Marauder’s Map and the invisibility cloak-neatly folded-had been carefully nestled inside.

“Did you think I wasn’t one to keep my word, Harry?”

“No, I just heard you like to… Claim things.”

Tom snorted. “Who told you that, Mulciber?”

He shrugged.

“I have bit of a Magpie-like tendency to claim things of power from others, I’ll admit that, but I’ve curbed it.” Having located the necessary supplies Tom resurfaced from his trunk and kicked it closed. “Besides, stealing those would only give me two out of the three things that I want from you. Chief amongst those things, _you_.”

Harry pushed his own trunk closed again, acting to change the subject in case Tom made an attempt to try something. “Don’t you have a paper to be writing?”

“I do indeed. Will you be accompanying me or not?”

“Sure. Why not.” At least in the library the dark brunette was less likely-if only marginally-to get any ideas. “So the paper that you’re writing is for your Muggle Studies class?”

Tom nodded. “It is, but I believe I already told you that.”

“What’s it on?”

“The official prompt is ‘write a 48 inch paper on the effect Muggle society has on magical people left stranded in their world’ either through being born to Muggle parents or being orphaned like me.” He said. “You’re a half blood and I assume, from your tales of homeschooling, that you live with your father’s side of the family? Do you know what’s currently going on in Muggle Europe?”

World War II. “Not particularly.”

“Britain, France, Canada and America have gone and gotten themselves into a war with Italy, Germany and Japan. They’ve been dropping bombs everywhere for days and nights on end, and rationing food all because some Muggle with a bad mustache wants to kill off a minority of people who practice a different religion that him.” He scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

“That doesn’t sound familiar to you at all?” He asked. “Killing off people because they are part of a different religion. Killing off people because they’re born to Muggle parents. Doesn’t seem all that different to me.”

Harry knew he shouldn’t have said it, but true to form it was out before he could stop himself. This, he felt confident, would be another occurrence of a conversation between them dissolving into a bitter argument which would lead to one or the other storming angrily away.

“Of course is different, Harry. The Muggle Borns are destroying precious long-held traditions, diluting our bloodlines and leading our world to ruin.”

“Funny, Tom, I’m pretty sure that’s precisely what the Nazis would say about the Jews.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know about what was going on, Harry.” Tom’s voice was level, but cold. It was obvious that his words annoyed him, but also equally plain that he was refusing to allow himself to become angry. He was definitely planning on trying to get something out of him. Harry would have to be on his guard.

“You’re not the only one capable of giving selective information.”

“Touché.” He reluctantly allowed. “Back to the point, the paper that I am writing revolves around proposing a rule which would allow students like myself to spend the summer holiday at Hogwarts in order to avoid the war. Under-aged and unable to legally use magic, should a bomb fall wrong its certain death.”

As they passed the library doors and headed towards the nearest table Tom lowered his voice so as to avoid being on the receiving end of the librarian’s glare.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with death, Harry? To have him breathing down your neck by day and sleeping in your bed by night?” There was a raw honesty to his words that shook the other’s resolve to keep his walls up. As did the sudden realization that the damage to his Boggart hadn’t been from some creature but rather from a bomb. “Can you blame me for fearing death as I do?”

“Everyone’s afraid of death, Tom.”

“Says the one who’s greatest fear is fear itself.” He said as he set his things down on the table and sat down. “I fear death above all else, Harry. That is why my Boggart takes the form that it does. And it’s also why I intend to become immortal.”

Not exactly new information, all things considered.

“It’s also why I want you to consider doing so as well.”

He nearly missed the chair he’d been in the process of sitting in. “ _What?”_

 _“Shh!”_ Tom hissed. “Quiet, before you attract the hag.”

“You want to become immortal?” He nodded. “And you want _me_ to become immortal with you?”

“Is that a problem? As you said,” he smirked, “we all fear death.”

“But why?”

“Because you are mine and I don’t let what’s mine go once I have it.”

“What about the others? Your ‘Knights of Walpurgis’? Are you going to make them immortal too?”

“And be stuck with those idiots forever?” Tom scoffed coldly. “No. They are nothing to me. Pawns to be tread upon and sacrificed. I want you to be my Queen.”

Briefly flashing back to the massive Wizard’s Chessboard he’d had to traverse with Ron and Hermione during his first year, he shivered.

Tom, apparently mistaking this for a shiver of want rather than fear, leaned forward. “Oh yes, imagine it. Living forever. Reining over everything the light touches at my side. Regarded as the Gods of a perfect world.” He smiled. “I can give you everything. All I ask in return is that you give me the same.”

“I’m not going to _give_ you anything, Tom. What you get from me, you earn.”

Tom sat back in his chair, popped the lid off of the Inkwell and dipped his quill into it. “I haven’t forgotten that I need to prove myself to you.”

Harry made a disbelieving sound. “Want to tell me exactly how you plan on becoming immortal? Going to get a vampire to bite you, or-?”

“Oh please!” He snorted. “My method is far more elegant and a great deal less dehumanizing.”

_Just insanity inducing._

“But enough of that-not that I intend for you to forget what I’m offering you, quite the contrary-talk of eternity, be it together or not, isn’t why I asked you to accompany me here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Wiping the excess ink of the tip of his quill, he began to write. “I’m ashamed to admit that it’s taken me this long to notice this fact, but you and I have never had a proper conversation. We should get to know each other better.”

 _That_ was what he wanted?

“Oh, Uh, sure.” It seemed like a harmless enough topic. He could see nothing wrong with indulging him. “What do you want to know?”

“What are you into, Precious? What do you do at home with your friends when you’re not busy with schooling? What career did you imagine yourself having before you met me?”

“What are my interests?” Harry repeated with a shrug. “Exploding Snap. Wizard’s Chess. But my favorite thing of all is Quidditch; I love to fly.”

“To fly?” He pursed his lips. “Like, with a broom?”

“Yeah.” He said, smirking at the face that Tom was making. “I would play Quidditch a lot with Ron and his siblings; would always play Seeker. I was good at it.”

“Were you?”

“My first game, I almost swallowed the Snitch.” He smiled at the memory.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“And to think that you told me you _don’t_ make a habit of eating things you shouldn’t.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Tom’s eyebrows rose. “You said the same thing about the spiked chocolate.”

“Pratt!”

“Truth.”

“That you’re a Pratt? Glad you admit it.”

He shook his head but smirked. “Ever been to the World Cup?”

“I have.” He said. “I went with Ron and his family.”

“This past summer?”

“No. The one before that.”

“1938?” Harry nodded. “How was it?”

“Fun. But wild.”

“I’d bet. It is described as a ‘logistical nightmare for the host nation’ after all. Who won?”

“Ireland.” He said. “They played Bulgaria.”

“Veelas?”

“Veelas.”

“Is it true? About them, I mean? Can they charm men merely by dancing and launch fireballs from their hands?”

“Yes. To both questions.” He told him. “Trust me, angry Veela are not a pretty sight.”

“Harpy-like, they say.”

“Very.”

“I enjoy reading. Music. Art. Solitary activities, mostly. I’d be the first to admit that I’m not the most sociable of people; I prefer the company of animals, snakes especially, over humans really.” Tom said. “You’re an exception, I think.”

He had to admit he was minorly surprised that Tom bothered to reciprocate with his own answers to the questions, regardless of whether or not they were true.

“What career do you imagine for yourself, Tom? Aside,” he added quickly before the other could speak, “from the future as a Dark Overlord. If that wasn’t possible, what else would you do?”

“I’ve already told you that I want to teach.”

“You spoke as if that position would be temporary.”

“I did.” Tom admitted, wrist curving gracefully as he dipped the quill back into the ink. “And it would be, should I become the ‘Dark Overlord’ that I intend to. But the hypothetical world in which this conversation takes place does not allow for that as a possibility.”

“Fair enough.”

The other boy grinned at his reaction. “There’s still a potential that I’d want to leave my teaching post at Hogwarts in order to become the Minister of Magic.”

“Lofty goals.”

“Never less.” He said. “What about you?”

“There’s only ever been two careers that I’ve considered going into. A professional Seeker for Britain’s team is one of them. An Auror is another.”

“Well, those are starkly different jobs.” He said. “With your DADA scores, not to mention the fact that you have the sort of inherent luck that apparently allows you to brew whatever potion you wish simply by throwing random ingredients into a cauldron-.”

“You bloody well know that’s not what really happened-!”

“I’m sure that you have no problem at all getting a job.”

Of course, if Tom had his way, he’d become the very epitome of what an Auror was _not_.

“Do you dance?”

“I have two left feet, Tom.”

“Sing?”

“Were I to attempt, I’d break glass.”

“Really?” He actually seemed shocked. “I’ve heard it’s possible, but-.”

“Because I’m bad!”

Tom blinked, coloring slightly. Even with how pale he was the flush was barely noticeable. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said. “I’ve heard that you have some musical talent.”

“From whom, might I ask?”

“Nagini.”

“Ha ha.” Halfway finished with his assignment, Tom paused to check his work. “Whoever _really_ told you regardless, yes. I taught myself to play the piano and can sing: they would drag us to church every Sunday at that horrible orphanage. Though I’d probably be rusty at this point. It’s been a while.”

“Not religious, I take it?”

“The world wouldn’t be this way if there were a God.” Harry couldn’t help but think he had a point.

A loud growl from his stomach brought a decisive end to their conversation. Tom pulled the pocket-watch he’d summoned earlier that morning from his robes and opened it.

“How time flies.” He remarked quietly. “Head down to lunch, Harry. The Great Hall’s been serving for just over five minutes.”

“What about you, Tom? Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’ll be fine until dinner. I’ve work to do.” The dark brunet replied, making a show of resuming his essay. “Should you need me for any reason, you’ll find me right here.”

“I can bring you something?”

“Do you want Pince to kill us both?”

“Irma Pince?”

“Who? No, why do you randomly spout such nonsense Harry? Sariah Pince, the librarian.”

That made more sense, as Harry hadn’t thought the Madam Pince he knew to be that old. “You brought me up something so it’s the least I can do in return. If you get hungry before dinner I’ll be in the common room.”

Tom kept industriously writing until he felt sure the raven was out of sight and earshot before carefully setting his pen down and tugging the collar of the shirt he wore gently free of where it rested just below his collarbone.

 _“Did you get all that, Nagini?”_ He asked his familiar.

“ _Yes, Master_.” She hissed back, her coils slowly unfurling from where they’d been carefully wound around his chest and torso in favor of resuming her favorite perch on his shoulders.

“ _Good.”_ Tom pulled the diary from his pocket and flipped it to a blank page. “ _I need someone to check my memory as I can’t afford to leave anything out of such valuable notes.”_

Nagini had to admit that she hadn’t believed the raven would be much different than her Master’s other humans, even if he was a speaker. Hadn’t thought he truly had a hope of helping him. With some guilt the serpent admitted to herself that she given up her beloved Master for lost to his own ever darkening desires.

But if this ‘Harry Potter’ could affect him to the point where he was _taking notes_ on his really quite trivial words Nagini dared to hope she might have been wrong.

“ _Don’t forget the Exploding Snap, Master.”_

“ _Right, thank you.”_ The rapid scratching of his quill filled the air around him, his right hand flying gracefully over the paper and his left stroking her warm scales. _“I think it’s all falling into place, Nagini.”_ He trilled once his work was done. _“I think I finally have a plan put together that even one as stubborn as him cannot resist. Harry Potter will be mine.”_

 _“He’ll belong to you, yes? Like all the others?”_ For the first time, Nagini hope that her Master would not be victorious. For his own sake.

 _“Just like all the others.”_ He echoed triumphantly. _“Now all I need is a few days to set up.”_


	12. Interim

The deep velvet blue of the backs of the Exploding Snap cards, accented with gold leafing, reminded Tom vaguely of the color of his own eyes. He held them carefully, mindful not to turn any of them over lest they suddenly catch fire and singe off his eyebrows. The last thing that he needed was Harry ribbing him.

                His intended opener to the final round of their battle of wills was taking a great deal more time to prepare than he’d expected it would-unable to request the use of the map and cloak as he knew Harry wouldn’t allow him to until he’d explained himself and not wanting to bring any of the others in to assist him for risk of one of the teachers or other Prefects finding out-and as such the move he would’ve liked to make was currently not available. A pity, too. The weather was unseasonably warm that day and, even after dark, neither of them would’ve had to worry about freezing.

                Tom knew he couldn’t go without at least doing something, so he’d stolen the deck from an unsuspecting third-year and spent all morning reading up on the three separate versions of the card game: Classic, Patience and Bavarian. It was a good thing he was miles ahead of everyone in his grade and could afford to miss a few classes every once in a while. Now all that was left before he could initiate his endgame was to locate his raven.

                “ _Master_.” Nagini hissed, crawling towards him from the stairs. “ _His free period has begun. He is outside enjoying the weather with those other friends of his. The ones that you dislike.”_

 _“They’ll have their uses today, my dear. After all, the game isn’t as fun when only two people are playing.”_ He rose from where he’d been sitting on the end of his bed. _“Lead me, Nagini.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

Tom followed his familiar out of the common room and into the hallways of the Castle. Classes had just let out and the corridors were filled with students, quite a few of whom jumped and shrieked at the sight of his fearsome pet. He couldn’t help but smirk when she nipped at the heels of a passing Ravenclaw who screamed in response and bolted in the opposite direction.

 _“Come now Nagini, behave yourself.”_ But there was no admonishment to the words.

                “ _I’m only having a bit of fun, Master.”_ She waited at the front doors for him to open them before proceeding down the steps and through the long grass. _“This way. Near the lake.”_

                Nagini stopped at the top of the hill leading down towards the stone shore of the Black Lake and Tom paused as well. Eyes scanning the shore and the students skipping stones there before finally landing on Harry and his little group. From what he could tell, it consisted not only of his three annoying friends but Minerva as well.”

                The wind whipping off the lake pulled his robes out behind him as he started down the hill. He went unnoticed until he gracefully sat down between Minerva and Neil, causing all present in the little circle to startle.

                “Tom?” Harry sounded genuinely surprised, unlike the others who were either shaking or grumbling angrily. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since last night at dinner.”

                “I’ve been around; like I told you yesterday, I’ve a lot of work to do.”

                “Because you’ve been skipping classes and sneaking out at night?”

                “The former no, but the later yes. I have a large-scale personal project on my hands.”

                “Can’t ask Avery or one of the others to help you?”

                “It’s a matter too delicate for delegation into the hands of the vapidly inept.” Nagini lazily dragged herself onto his shoulders, her scales brushing Neil’s arm and making him blanch.

                “Am I counted among those ‘vapidly inept’?”

                “I merely hadn’t wanted to bother you, amica mea.”

                “If the whole point of flirting is that someone will take note of your interest in them, why are you doing it in Latin?” Midian asked in the detached way specific-Harry had noticed-to Luna’s family, his silvery eyes slightly unfocused as they examined Tom.

                “Excuse me?” To his amusement Tom seemed as in sensed as the rest of them by the sudden statement.

                “Just call him ‘my love’. I understand that Latin is a language of power and all and sure, it sounds romantic, but for all that he knows you could be insulting him. Braccae sounds pleasant, but I wouldn’t want to be called that. Would you?”

                “I assure you, Lovegood, that I can concoct a better insult than ‘pants’ regardless of what language I may be speaking. I am fluent in a number of them.”

                Kenny tried to suppress a snort but failed miserably. Tom ignored him.

                “Regardless, that’s not why I’m here.” He pulled the deck from his pocket and set it down on the rock around which the little circle was sitting. “Care for a game?”

                “Exploding Snap?” Harry raised eyebrow, eyeing both the deck of cards and the fox smile on the other’s lips.

                “Exploding Snap.”

                “But you don’t play games.”

                “No reason I can’t start, Precious.” Tom shot a glare at Midian as if to say ‘see, I can complement him publicly in English’. “It behooves one’s relationship with another to share and participate in each other’s interests, after all.”

                “You missed class because you were researching Exploding Snap?”

                The other’s lips twitched down into a frown. “Yes, alright, I’ll admit it. I skipped both Transfiguration and Potions in order to teach myself this children’s card game. But it was worth it: I can play all three variants like a pro, now.” He pulled his wand from his pocket. “Are we going to play or not?”

                Snickering, Harry drew his own wand. “Yeah, sure. I’ll play you. Anyone else up for a few rounds?”

                “O-Ok.” Neil squeaked, shooting another near petrified look at Tom.

“Oh, I’d love to.” Midian said.

“Playing cards with _the_ Tom Riddle is certainly not something I'd ever expected to be doing.” Kenny said.

“Where did you get this deck?” Minerva snipped at him.

“Does it matter?”

“Do you think I would ask you if it didn’t? You’re not exactly pleasant to speak with!”

“If I told you that I borrowed it?”

“ _You are a Prefect, Thomas Riddle!”_

“Okay, I stole it. Bite me.”

“Tom.” Harry sighed. “Really?”

“By the time you’ve spent three years in Slytherin House one should know better than to leave things lying around. But I’ll make you a wager, Harry.” He said. “If I lose, to any of you, then I’ll return them. No harm done.”

“And if you win?” Kenny’s tone was edged with blatant suspicion.

Keeping his gaze on Harry, Tom smiled. “I only want to play.”

“Which variation are we playing?” Harry asked him.

“I was thinking Classic. Patience seems rather boring and Bavarian… Is just Patience in a circle.”

“Classic depends on good reflexes, Tom.”

“I know. As one who plays Seeker you shouldn’t have any problem with that fact. And I have perfectly swift reflexes myself.” The smile turned into a smirk. “As you are well aware. Even while inebriated I was able to pin you down.”

Harry turned bright red and swiftly busied himself with spreading out the cards on the rock. Tom laughed. Neil looked mortified. Kenny and Minerva both shot Tom looks which made it clear they’d read a bit too far into what might’ve happened between them. Midian simply hummed to himself happily, entirely unaffected by the sudden tinge of ignominy in the air.

“Let the games begin.”

The first round of cards were flipped over. Bowtruckles. Mountain Trolls. Common Welsh Greens. Eyes flew across the pictures, bodies tensing down in preparation to pounce on the first matching pair they saw. Wand tips hit cards. Cracks resounded around them as the cards spread out on the rock exploded intermittently into flames.

Tom went for a Hebridean Black but Midian got it first. The Manticore beside his right hand exploded and Nagini hissed in alarm.

“Come on, pick up your game Weasley. Cards shuffling too quickly for you to keep up with now?”

“Like you can talk very much, Riddle. Midian and Harry are both beating you!”

The pace of shuffling increased again. The pictures flashed at almost impossible speeds. A myriad of colors and feathers and scales. Efrida Claggs. Cyclopes. Giant Squids. Tom saw the card at the same time that Harry did. Both dove for it, practically launching themselves across the rock, gaze set on the carefully rendered Dragon with no thought spared to their proximity until it was too late.

**Crack!**

White exploded behind their eyelids. Pain lanced through their heads. Then everything went black.

The other four looked on in shock as the pair collapsed, Harry slumping across the card strewn rock and Tom sagging backwards onto the pebble strewn shore; Nagini managed to take the brunt of his fall, hissing in mild discomfort but successfully preventing her Master from injuring himself further.

“Oh dear,” Midian said, the first to recover from the shock of what had just happened, “that sounded like it hurt. I never knew Slytherins had such hard heads; I thought that was a Gryffindor trait.”

“Funny Lovegood.” Kenny grumbled, hauling Harry back upright just in time to prevent the next round of explosions from singeing the front of his robes.

“We should take both of them to the Hospital Wing before the period ends.” Neil said, nervously regarding Nagini as she slithered out from underneath the dark brunet’s head. “They’re out cold.”

“I say we leave Riddle. It’s what he’d do to any of us.”

“Not to Harry.” Midian pointed out.

“As a Prefect I can’t leave another student lying unconscious beside the Black Lake. No matter how unsavory he may be.” Minerva shot Kenny a pointed look. “You and Midian take Harry. Neil, help me with Tom.”

“Do I have to?” the Hufflepuff squawked, eyeing Nagini as she coiled herself protectively beside Tom’s prone form.

“Oh, don’t be such a doddering mess! It’s not as if Riddle is going to do much of anything in this state and I can’t lift him on my own!”

“But the snake-!”

She directed a hawk-like glare at the animal. “Shoo!”

Nagini hissed at her in indignant response but retreated a reluctant few yards away from where he lay. The serpent kept a careful eye on them as the pair pulled one of Tom’s arms over each of their shoulders and hoisted him upright. His feet dragged across the grass as he was hauled back up the hill and into the Castle.

“Oh good heavens, another one?”

“Yes, Madam Williams.” Minerva informed the Mediwitch with a huff. “Potter didn’t butt heads with the rock that we were playing on.”

The overworked and really quite elderly Mediwitch gestured to the cot to the right of the one in which Harry had been laid. “Put him over there. I’ll check him over for any injuries, but if he’s anything like Mr. Potter all he’ll need is a handful of hours to regain consciousness.”

After lifting Tom into the indicated cot the pair joined Kenny and Midian who were seated at Harry’s bedside.

“How is he?” Minerva asked her fellow Gryffindor.

“Madam Williams says that he’ll be fine. Doesn’t need any special treatment and will wake up on his own.”

“Good to hear that, because we all should be getting to class.”

“But-.”

“He’s not in any danger, Kenny, and with how hard they hit it’s unlikely that he’ll wake up before we get back.” Midian said. “We can all come back and sit with him after dinner.”

“Oh, all right.” The redhead reluctantly relented with a small half. “Not like little Miss Prefect would let us skip class even if he had broken his neck or something.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and ushered them all out of the Hospital Wing just as their free period came to an end.

 

Harry slowly regained consciousness to the sound of garbled voices. Opening his eyes to be greeted by the all-too-familiar blur of color which signified the absence of his glasses and a pounding headache, he groaned softly and sat up.

“Oh, he’s awake!”

“Welcome back to the world of the living, mate.” Kenny’s voice. His glasses were held out to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a Hippogriff.” He pushed his wireframe glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose and blinked hard as the room came into focus. “What happened? The last thing I remember is playing Exploding Snap by the lake.”

“You and Tom butted heads. Literally.” Neil told him.

That certainly explained the pain in his head. “Who won?”

“I did.” Midian said. “Tom lost, so he has to return the cards.” From within his robes he produced the deck and set it carefully on the little bedside table. “Please give them to him when he wakes up. I went back after class to collect them.”

“Thanks, Midian. I’ll do that.” He said. “So Tom is still unconscious?”

“Blessedly.” Kenny said. “Mind telling us exactly what the hell that reference to pinning you down was about? Has that bastard been hurting you?”

“Merlin, Kenny! He just woke up!”

“No. Tom hasn’t hurt me.” This time around Harry was mostly successful in keeping the blush off of his face. “I got him to play Two Truths and a Lie a few nights ago. We both wound up sort of drunk-it was Fire Whiskey-and he kissed me. Well… Tried to.” He squirmed slightly. “I pushed him off.”

“Good.” The redhead nodded, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “I bet that Pratt wasn’t pleased to be told ‘no’.”

“No. But he reacted better than you’d expect.” He said. “Seems to have taken what I said to heart; has actually been trying to get to know me better. Nagini says he so desperate to understand in some capacity that he’s been researching things like Dragon Courting.”

“But Nagini’s a snake. How could you-.” Understanding dawned in his brown eyes. “You’re a Parselmouth. Just like Riddle. But how, it’s hereditary; are you related?”

“No. It’s complicated.” He said. “I shouldn’t have even brought it up. Don’t mention it to him.”

“You think we are going to tell him anything?” Neil sounded horrified by even the idea of having to talk to Tom.

“Of course we aren’t. _You_ shouldn’t have told him most of what you have.” Kenny said. “We keep telling you, Harry, and you keep not listening; he’s bad news. You need to mind your words around him because even something as simple as your favorite song could become a weapon his hands. You definitely shouldn’t have told him about being able to cast a Patronus.”

“How do you know that I told him that?”

“Because he cornered me outside the Great Hall a few days ago trying to get information out of me. I called him uninformed and he listed things he knew; that was one of them, along with your age and what wood your wand is made from.”

“The only reason that he knows about the Patronus is because I’ve been trying to teach him to cast one.” Harry told him, hoping to assuage his friend’s concern. “They’re useful against the Dementors.”

“You’re wasting your time. He’s too far gone to be able to cast one: I’m sure you’ve heard what they say about Dark Wizards.” Kenny said.

“He’s not a Dark Wizard.” He settled back against the pillows at the head of the cot. “Not yet at least. Not completely.”

“Harry, he’s pulled the wool completely over your eyes.”

“I can take care of myself, Kenny. Though I appreciate your concern.”

Just then the Mediwitch emerged from her office at the far end of the Hospital Wing and proceeded swiftly towards them.

“It’s five minutes to curfew; I’m going to have to ask all of you to leave.” She said. “Mr. Potter, if you would like to return to your dormitory-.”

“I’ll stay the night here, think you Madam Williams.” He felt fine now, aside from the headache, but for some reason didn’t like the thought of leaving Tom to wake up alone and confused in the Hospital Wing.

“Suit yourself. Though most don’t _want_ to be forced to stay the night here.” The Mediwitch aimed one final “out, the Hospital Wing is closing to visitors for the night” at the others before shuffling off with a quiet mutter of “odd boy.”

Neil bid him good night and left. Midian did the same, paused at the foot of Tom’s bed to repeat the process despite him being completely out, and then wandered dreamily away into the hall.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to your House?” Kenny asked him.

“If you’re worried he’ll take advantage of me don’t bother. Being in the dorm wouldn’t stop him either if that was what Tom wanted to do.” Harry said. “Good night, Kenny.”

“Good night.”

Moments later, Harry was alone. Madam Williams re-emerged five minutes later, lowered the lights and ordered him to get to sleep. Harry turned his head. Moonlight filtered through the window set into the wall between their cots, dulled by wispy clouds and spilling a puddle of muted silver across the stone floor. Tom’s form lay on his back, the sheets folded across his chest-rising and falling with the gentle rhythm of his breaths-and his hands resting to either side. The loose curls of his bangs hid the majority of the dark bruise on his forehead from sight and his eyelids fluttered slightly on occasion. He couldn’t help but wonder what a young Dark Lord might dream about.

Something brushed against his hip and pushed up beneath his shirt. Cool and smooth as it slid over his stomach and up his chest. Harry jumped and yanked up the sheets just in time for the green serpent’s diamond shaped head to emerge from his collar.

“ _Nagini!”_ He yelped. “ _What are you doing?”_

 _“Warming up. This wing is cold!”_ She hissed. “ _And I wanted to speak with you.”_

Tom was showing no signs of stirring anytime soon, so there was no risk of them being overheard. “ _Do you have to do it in my shirt?”_

 _“I’m cold!”_ She repeated in a tone which sounded surprisingly like a whine. _“I would normally not do this, but Master is unconscious and unconscious bodies are not as warm!”_

She had been helpful and hadn’t said anything to Tom about their conversations. Harry supposed that it was the least that he could do to repay her. Especially considering she’d already been ordered not to harm him.

_“Try not to squeeze me too hard.”_

Nagini hissed in satisfaction and wound her coils loosely around his chest. She was all muscle. Heavy, but not unbearably so.

_“You have a very hard head. You knocked Master out for a very long time.”_

_“It wasn’t purposeful.”_ He promised her. “ _Besides, he knocked me out as well.”_

 _“Yes. But you woke up first. His head is not as hard.”_ Nagini’s amber eyes gleamed up at him. “ _Which is why I expect that you will win against him. Save him from his own madness. Do not disappoint me and make my efforts to help you worthless. Do you understand me, Human?”_

“ _I’m going to do everything I can for him. I already told you that_.”

“ _I’m glad we are still clear. You need to know that he has enacted a plan; he is going to act as if he has fallen for you. As if he is in love with you. You must not believe him, no matter what. Not without proof.”_

An act? He had expected that Tom might attempt something similar but having confirmation of that fact made it starkly clear he needed to watch his step. Carefully.

Just as he was about to thank her for the warning Tom called “ _Nagini_ ,” in a dry and somewhat scratchy voice.

 _“Master._ ” The serpent immediately released him, vacating Harry’s cot and climbing into Tom’s instead. Slithering up the other boy’s sleeve without a moment of hesitation.

“She was using you as a warming stand?” Tom’s eyes reflected the moonlight, highlighting the flecks of brown and lighter blues which were normally hidden by the deep indigo hue of his Irises. “For how long?”

“Not too long. Maybe five minutes.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, stroking her scales, and said “we’re in the hospital wing?”

“We are.”

“I’ve been out for a while?”

“You have.”

“Merlin’s beard. You must have a rock between your ears, given how bloody hard your head is.”

Harry laughed. “We’ll both be fine by morning, Tom.”


	13. Leo and Capricorn

It had been an eventful past few days, to say the least. After spending a post Exploding Snap night in the Hospital Wing the pair had returned to the common room and changed before heading to breakfast where they’d been subject to snickers and mimicked head-butting and swoons. Surprisingly Tom hadn’t seemed overly annoyed by the mild jeers. Or maybe he was just far better at controlling his emotions when he wanted to be than even Harry had given him credit for. A very amused Dumbledore had joined in on the action as well, passing a deck of Exploding Snap cards back to Tom along with his paper on Un-transfiguring canaries.

                Even the Knights of Walpurgis had begun poking fun at them and Tom bore all of it. Expertly keeping the truth of what he felt off of his face no doubt in an effort to impress him. He’d be lying if he were to say it wasn’t working, at least to a small degree. Especially when he was intimately aware of how it felt to have the entire school making fun of you; at least he had some respite in that most of the attention was focused on the fact that he had knocked out Tom, and the fact that he himself had been knocked out as well was largely overlooked.

                By the time Friday had rolled around once again Harry was more than happy to collapse into bed and pass out. So when he opened his eyes, sleep disturbed by a faint clattering sound, and squinted into the darkness of his curtained off bunk to see a winged golden ball hovering over his bed he couldn’t help but think that he was dreaming.

                _A Snitch?_ The golden metal gleamed in the dim light, its wings beating at ridiculous speeds. It lowered itself, shot backwards a few inches and then rose to the top of the drawings on his bed before returning to where it had been hovering a moment before. Yes, it was unmistakably a Snitch. A Snitch loose in the Slytherin dorms. In his bed. He had to be dreaming, surely; suffering withdraw from the persistent lack of participation in his favorite sport.

                The Snitch drew back slightly as he sat up, detecting movement. Slowly, he raised his hand. Eyed the little orb as best he could without his glasses on. His hand shot out, closing around the little ball before it could act to dart away. It was cold against his skin. The diaphanous wings, brushing over his hand as they closed, felt disconcertingly real.

                “Impressive.”

                Harry nearly fell out of bed in shock when Tom’s voice sounded quite suddenly from beside him. The taller boy reclined against his bedside table, hands planted on either side and ankles crossed one over the other, his dark eyes holding the same glint as the Snitch’s metallic body in the shadows.

                “Didn’t mean to startle you, Precious. I apologize.”

                “Tom? Did you…” He glanced from the Snitch to the other boy and back again, understanding dawning as to what had happened. “You _stole_ the Snitch?”

                “No.” He straightened up and pulled back the curtains surrounding Harry’s bed, revealing the open box of equipment and pair of brooms which were sitting on his own. “I stole the Snitch _and_ everything else.”

                “Tom-!”

                “Oh, hush!” He chided sharply. “I went through too much effort to have you admonishing me as if you’re channeling that awful matron at Wool! It’s not as if I won’t return them once we’re finished!” Tom softened his tone quickly, his face shifting into something that may have been apologetic though his sight was too blurry to really tell. “I wanted to do something for you; you said that you enjoyed Quidditch so I figured that we could go down to the pitch and play.”

Tom step forward again and gently slid his glasses onto his face. With his now clear vision Harry could see the other boy, his long fingered hands protected by leather gloves and his lithe body ensconced in a fitted coat of black wool. Coiled around his neck in a poor imitation of Nagini was a green and silver Slytherin scarf. There was a rosy tent of cold to his pale cheeks, hinting at his recent return from outside.

“Bundle up and get your cloak.” He held out his gloved hand imploringly for the Snitch that Harry still held. He place it in Tom’s hand, watching the other’s slender fingers curl around the Snitch before it could escape again. After returning it to its proper place and closing the lid, he shrunk the box and brooms and set them in his pocket. He then perched on the edge of his bed and waited patiently for Harry to change into warmer clothing than his pajamas.

So this was the angle that Tom was going with? It made sense, given the line of questioning Tom had engaged him with and the following incident with the Exploding Snap. Still, with the obvious distaste that he’d shown for brooms it was a bit of a surprise that he’d do this. Harry rose from his bed and skirted the foot of it towards his trunk, noticing as he did so that Nagini was watching him from beneath Tom’s bed. The outline of her form just barely visible in the gloom.

His winter clothes, much like the rest of his clothing, were far from fitting let alone _fitted_ like Tom’s. A fact which didn’t escape the other boy who sighed as he stepped forwards again, gently wrestling control of his scarf free from him and tucking it securely around his neck.

“Why do you wear such clothing, love?” He asked with a click of his tongue. “Don’t get me wrong darling, I find you absolutely striking regardless-and to another point it’s one’s personality that matters-but it would do wonders for your figure to wear something that doesn’t make you look as if you’ve suddenly deflated.”

“I’m not able to access my full inheritance until I’m of age, Tom. I can’t afford to waste money at the moment buying new clothes when these are perfectly fine.”

“Do you think I can either?”

“How could you possibly not afford what you wear when you’re the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Slytherin’s fortune was spent long ago. But for two near priceless heirlooms, His Heirs have been left penniless for generations before mine.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice. “All of my clothes have been Transfigured. I can do it for you as well, if you’d like?”

“Maybe some other time, Tom.” He said. Both watched the scarf slide through his fingers like water. “We should head out before the Caretaker makes another round.”

“Fair point.” He said. “Shall we?”

They proceeded down into the common room and opened the portal out into the halls before throwing the cloak over themselves. If concealing himself Ron and Hermione had been difficult now that they’d grown to taller but still mostly equal heights, concealing himself and Tom-who was taller than even Ron was-while in thick winter clothing was even harder. They kept stepping on the backs of each other’s shoes and their feet kept coming into view.

“Ouch!”

“ Sorry.”

They managed to make it to the staircase and started up it.

“Watch the step! The step!”

Harry’s reply was cut off when he nearly tripped over the first step. Tom had to grab him by the forearm to stop him from falling out from beneath the invisibility cloak. The pair had to pause by the front doors until the Caretaker moved on and exited the Castle.

Cold air blasted them as they stepped down to the grounds. The cloudless black sky was filled with millions of stars and the green blades of grass were lined with frost; they crunched beneath their feet as the two boys hurried down to the Quidditch pitch and ducked between the stands.

Once safely within the pitch black shadows of the pitch they removed the cloak and Harry swiftly stuffed it into his robes. Tom removed the box and brooms, returned them to the normal size and popped the box open.

“I think it’s best we nix the Bludgers.”

“And the Snitch, too.”

“Tosh.” Tom picked up the Quaffle and examined it briefly by the light of his wand before giving it an experimental toss into the air. “Why would you think we shouldn’t release the marvelously devilish golden ball?”

“Because it’s pitch black out here, Tom.” Harry said. He could clearly remember how it had been next to impossible to spot the Snitch in the storm during his third year and didn’t want to even attempt to imagine trying to find a loose Snitch in the dead of night. No matter how many stars there were. “If we lose the Snitch they’ll know someone ‘borrowed’ the school’s equipment and we’re sure to be in trouble.”

“You’ll be able to see the Snitch fine, Precious.” He said, pulling the little ball from its bound position and tapped it gently with his wand. “Candenti.”

A brief flash of white light shot from the tip of Tom’s wand and the Snitch began to emit a dim golden light. Nowhere near bright enough to be seen from the Castle and attract attention to their activities but able to shine like a beacon regardless. The gentle glow made Tom’s sharp features appear softer than usual.

“I see you’ve noticed what it does.” He released the Snitch and tossed it high into the air; its wings snapped open and it zoomed over towards the crest of the far goalpost. “I invented that spell myself. Just a few days ago, actually, for precisely this purpose. I don’t know much about Quidditch, didn’t actually bother to research it and have never been to a game, but I’m aware that the soul of the game-if you will-is the Snitch.”

The pair watched the little glowing orb plummet like a stone, come to an abrupt stop and then scoot off towards the Slytherin corner of the stands.

Tom bent and picked up his broom. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry looked down at his broom “Up!” it leapt into his hand.

“A show off, I see.”

“I don’t see a mirror anywhere, Tom.”

The dark brunet shook his head but didn’t dignify his snark. “Flying is in your blood?”

He nodded as they mounted their brooms. Harry noticed that Tom seemed relatively uncomfortable with proceedings and they weren’t even off the ground yet. “My dad was a Chaser for Gryffindor when he went here. Was head boy in his 7th year as well, despite not being a Prefect. Won a couple of trophies.”

“Did he win one for special services to the school?”

Harry was thankful for the darkness, as even with how close they were standing it hid the momentary flash of anger at the memory of exactly _how_ Tom had come to receive that reward in the first place from his sight. “Nothing quite so prestigious. Just a few things pertaining to Quidditch.”

“Then perhaps you can out do him.” They rose steadily off the ground. Tom’s knuckles were clutched white against the handle of his broom. “You certainly seem at home on a broom.” Was that a tremor in his voice that he heard? “Why didn’t you try out for the team? From what I hear from Lestrange our House’s Seeker is abysmal.”

“I might’ve considered it.” A lie. Even if he weren’t technically a part of Lion House in this time, he would _never_ play for Slytherin. It felt like a betrayal. “But I have a much more important matter to concern myself with this year.”

“I already know that you’re going to beat me, if nothing else than because I feel far from sound balanced on this _matchstick_ ,” subconsciously Tom clutched the broom even tighter; Harry was of a mind to worry that either the wood or his fingers would soon break from the stress, “May the best man catch the damn thing.”

Even on the positively ancient school broom Harry outpaced Tom without really having to try. He might’ve considered, for the briefest of moments, going easy on him but quickly pitched the idea. Well aware that doing so would not be overlooked by Tom and would not be met with a very pleased reaction.

The taller boy was hesitant in the air. Uncomfortable. Even frightened, perhaps. Harry found himself amused by the way that the young Dark Lord was all but laying on his broom, gripping it with both arms and both legs as if his very life depended on it.

The Snitch darted away from Harry, shooting off to the right and across Tom’s range. The Slytherin Prefect’s hand shot out, fingertips brushing the tip of one of its wings, but closed around air. The little orb plummeted. Tom balked and pulled up on his broom, yanking it to a stop, while Harry dove like a falcon. Snatching the little ball out of the cold air and pulling out of the maneuver so close to the earth that his feet brushed the frozen grass.

“Showy Git.” Tom’s hair was so ruffled from their flight that it almost rivaled Harry’s normal bird’s nest. Despite his best efforts to present an annoyed front, his relief at being back on the ground and off of the broom were far too obvious to make the act effective. “Have fun?”

“Yeah.” He admitted, handing the Snitch back when Tom held out his hand again. “It was nice to fly again.”

“Obumbro.” Tom tapped the tip of his wand against the Snitch a second time, the golden glow going dark. “Glad that you enjoyed it because ‘nice’ is not the adjective that I would choose to describe it.”

“Not a fan of flying, Tom?”

“I have no problem with flying nor with heights. Hanging hundreds of feet in the air with only a couple inch thick _stick_ to prevent you from falling to your death, however, is not my idea of a good time.”

“Rather have a Thestral or a Hippogriff?” He asked him.

“I’d rather have anything-even something so outlandish as, I don’t know, of _flying car_ ; not that anyone would be mad enough to invent something like that-than a broom!” Tom didn’t need to know that Ron’s father, being obsessed by Muggle artifacts as he was, had created just such a ‘mad’ invention. Not yet at least. “Not that any of that is _real_ flying.”

“You talk like you can ‘really’ fly.”

Tom puffed his chest up proudly, looking smug. “I’m the most ingenious student ever to walk Hogwarts’ hallowed halls. Of _course_ I can fly!”

“You have wings, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.”

“But it’s a rule of magic that you can only fly with a flying charm.” He protested. “At least that’s what Hermione would say whenever Ron and I would talk about it.”

“Practical one, is she?” He chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, love. And where you’re far more intelligent than any of my other followers, you’re far from the genius that I am.”

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Any time.” Tom grinned. “Every rule has its exception, Harry. A loophole. Sometimes it’s just a matter of finding it.” He tilted his head back to look up at the sky. “Such a beautiful night. Perfect conditions. We’ll put these away and then I’ll show you a taste of what I can teach you.”

Rather than shrink the box again he picked up one handle and Harry grabbed the other and, with the box between them and a broom in each of their free hands, the pair proceeded back to the supply shed to replace them where they rightfully belonged. After re-locking the door behind them, Tom held out a hand to him but when he didn’t immediately move to take it he offered another smile. This one sweet. Promising.

“I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to be afraid that I’ll drop you.”

There were a million more efficient ways for the other to go about killing him if he were really of a mind to do so. After another moment further, he set his hand in Tom’s slightly larger one.

“That’s it, Precious. You can trust me.” His voice had shifted into a seductive silken purr. “Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to.”

Knowing that Tom wouldn’t do anything until he complied with his wishes, Harry did as he was told. The other’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, firm but not painful. The temperature around them dropped and something wet, like mist, slithered across his cheek. He suddenly felt odd. As if he’d been wrapped in something buoyant and dropped into a deep body of water.

“Alright. Open them.”

The first thing he saw when he did was Tom’s face. The other boy was smirking at him like the cat that got the cream and snickering slightly.

“Git! You tricked-!” The words died on his lips when he realized the flag atop the highest tower of the stands was eye level with and to the right of them. His eyes grew wide as saucers and Tom’s amusement intensified even more, but Harry was too busy looking around and below them to really notice.

He couldn’t believe it.

Black mist coiled around them, bearing them up like an artificial cloud. Clearly and unmistakably present, but somehow see-through and not at all obstructive of their vision. They had to be at least a hundred feet off the ground, simply hanging there as if gravity was nonexistent.

“You really… we’re…?” He couldn’t comprehend how he could’ve possibly ever escaped Voldemort once, let alone as often as he had, when he could do things like this as a _school boy_. “You came up with this yourself?”

“Of course.” They rose a bit higher. “Rather more impressive than a broom, I think. Now, it’s time I showed you what this spell can do.”

One moment they were hovering stationary and the next they were soaring towards the Black Lake at a speed which put his Fire Bolt to shame. The acceleration was instantaneous and dizzying. A rush of adrenaline which came from nothing else, a high that nothing could compare to, and Harry loved it.

Tom’s control was astounding. Their altitude dropped steadily as they approached the Lake until they were skimming across the water. So close that he could see the bottom through the glass-like surface, falling rapidly away as the depth increased until nothing could be seen of it at all. Harry stretched out a hand, allowing his fingers to drag a shallow gash across its undisturbed veneer. The cold biting mildly into him through the fabric of his gloves.

He was jerked back aloft with a shocking suddenness. Rocketing hundreds of feet into the air, their speed dropping with each foot they climbed until their momentum ran out completely. In the moment where they hung suspended together at the apex of their ascent he could see the true smile on Tom’s face, his blue eyes reflecting the stars that now seemed only inches away from their grasp, back arched in a graceful curve that Harry knew he-all thin limbs and bony protrusions of elbows and knees-could never hope to imitate.

And then they were falling.

Hurdling back to earth at a speed that took all breath and thought away. It was all danger, and power, and Tom and if the other boy let go he knew that he would be dead; no amount of luck could save him from the fall like that. But Tom did not let go, did not drop him just as he promised he wouldn’t, and Harry could feel the magic taking hold again. Arresting their fall little by little until they were descending at a gentle, harmless pace like leaves dropping from the branches of a tree or flakes of snow drifting on the winter wind. They’d been righted at some point and Tom’s hold had moved to his wrist and they were heading towards what looked to be an island barely longer than half the Quidditch pitch was wide. Entirely bare but for stones of different sizes.

Even after they’d returned to solid ground unharmed and the black mist had disappeared Tom did not immediately let go of him.

“I can feel your pulse racing.” He said softly over the gentle lapping of the water now surrounding them on all sides. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

“That was incredible.” And it was. Flying on a broom, no matter how fast, would never be quite the same again. “You didn’t frighten me at all.”

“Good.” He let go, then, and stepped back. “I can teach you, sometime. I can teach you that and so much more. You’ll be powerful, like I am. And together we’ll be unstoppable.”

They certainly would be. Though for which side remained up in the air.

“Let’s focus on getting you to be able to produce a Patronus in some capacity before we distract ourselves with anything else, Tom.” He said, sidestepping the subject.

To his surprise the other didn’t call him out on it. The taller boy moved to the good sized boulder nearest them and sat down, resting his back against it. When Harry looked at him quizzically he beckoned him over.

“Come here, love. The stars are out in force tonight and there’s not a cloud to be seen; you and I should take advantage.”

When he moved closer Tom pulled him down into his lap, drawing him against his chest and pulling his coat closed around them both. The brunet’s arms were around him and his back was pressing against Tom’s chest but at the moment Harry couldn’t care less. While they had been flying he hadn’t noticed but now that they’d stopped he felt frozen through and the other boy was warm.

He could feel his resting heart beat against his back and Tom’s scent surrounded him in a thick cloud, spicy and unmistakable. The Slytherin Prefect hummed in satisfaction when he melted against him, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You are schooled in astronomy, yes?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But about the most useful thing I learned in the subject was that Europa is covered with ice, not mice.”

Tom chuckled. “That’d be quite the place if it _were_ covered in mice.”

“Nagini would love it.”

“Sending her there would be an extinction level event for the mice and she’d grow to the size of a Basilisk.” He said. “When were you born?”

“July.”

“When in July?”

“The 31st.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw surprise flash across the other’s face. “Imagine that. You and I are approximately half a year apart in age; I was born the 31st of December.” He raised his right arm and pointed into the sky. “Do you see that star there?”

Harry nodded.

“That’s Polaris, the North Star. Just to the right of it there is Leo. Your birth consolation.” Tom said. “Leo, the Namean Lion of Greek mythology. One of the twelve labors of Hercules, which he was forced to undergo after killing his family, was to slay the lion but it was no ordinary beast. It’s pelt could be pierced by neither iron bronze or stone. After ultimately strangling it, he placed it in the heavens as a conquest.”

He gestured to another cluster of stars, these incredibly dim in comparison to those around them. “That one’s mine. Capricorn. The Gods of Olympus had gathered for a picnic beside the Nile, as the tale goes, when a monster attacked them. They were all swift to shape-shift and escape but Pan, God of the Wild, couldn’t decide exactly what it was he wanted to turn into before jumping into the river to get away. His upper half stayed out of the water and transformed into a goat, but his lower half transformed into a fish.”

“I wouldn’t have thought your constellation would be something quite so ridiculous, Tom.”

“At least mine isn’t the symbol of Gryffindor.” He shot back with a snort. “Your gloves are wet. Did you stick your hands into the water while we were flying over the lake?”

“Maybe?”

“Merlin, Potter. Are you trying to get frostbite!” Tom pulled his gloves off with his teeth and then reached for Harry’s, peeling them away before the other had a chance to form a protest. His fingers had turned white from the cold and the backs of his hands were splotched with red, which had the unfortunate effect of making the lettering etched into his flesh stand out even more plainly. He tried to remove his hand before the other noticed, not wanting him to ask, but was too late.

Tom’s fingers tightened, pinning his numbed hand in plain sight.

“Harry.” He asked softly. “What does ‘I Must Not Tell Lies’ mean? And why did someone force you to use an _illegal_ Blood Quill to etch the phrase into your hand?”

Bitterness and anger filled him at the thought of the awful pink toad and the hell that she and Fudge’s administration at the Ministry of Magic had put him through the year before. He couldn’t afford to lose control and give something away. Not while fully aware it wouldn’t be overlooked.”

“Last year one of my tutors was… Out for me. Her name was Dolores Umbridge and, well, she made it her mission to turn my life into hell.”

“Because you were lying to her?”

“Because I was telling a truth that she didn’t like.”

Satisfied by his answer, Tom lifted his hand to his face and softly pressed his lips to the scar. “It seems I’ve three people on my list to payback, now.” He said softly before slipping his own gloves onto Harry’s hands. He pulled him closer and nuzzled into his hair. “I’ll never allow anyone to harm you again and get away with it. You’re mine. Mine to protect. And protect you I will, always. Regardless of your self-perceived ability to ‘fend for yourself’.”

It was hard not to be affected by the honest devotion, even if it wasn’t rooted in an honest motive.

“Thank you, Tom.”

The dark brunet hummed softly again and then pointed to something else in the sky.

“That constellation,” he explained, “is Pegasus.”

As Tom launched into another explanation of the story behind yet another example of what to him appeared to be little more than a shapeless blob of silver dots Harry relaxed further into his embrace and closed his eyes. It would be so easy to fall for him if he kept doing things like this. Even though he knew who he was dealing with. Knew why Tom really wanted him. _Knew_ that all of this was just an act.

Despite Nagini’s warning and his own poignant memories of the pain and suffering which Voldemort had caused to both himself and those he cared most about, Harry found it difficult to resist the temptation to simply give in to Tom Riddle.


	14. Serpent's Heir

At some point the night before Harry had fallen asleep with the beating of Tom’s heart in his ear. When he woke up again he found himself in bed, still in his clothing from the night before but relieved of his coat and scarf and Tom’s gloves all of which had been returned to either their rightful place or owner. His own gloves have been left to dry out atop the closed lid of his trunk and the curtains had been drawn around his bed.

                Searching out his glasses on the bedside table and putting them on, he sat up and pushed the curtains aside. Tom sat atop his carefully made bed, back propped against his pillow and Nagini coiled in her usual favored position atop his shoulders. The diary was opened in his lap and his quill was flying across the pages though from that angle he couldn’t tell what he was writing.

                “Good morning, Precious.” Almost as if sensing his intentions the other boy twitched his wrist and the leather bound book fell closed with a soft snap. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

_“Lunch did end half an hour ago, Master.”_

                “Yes, you’re right Nagini.” Tom stroked her scales then looked over at Harry again. “Good afternoon, Precious. Sleep well?”

                “Yeah, I did.”

                “Do I make a comfortable pillow?” He smirked at him when Harry blushed.

                “Did you sleep at all, Tom?” The raven asked, dodging the question much to the other’s continued amusement. “What time did we get back?”

                “Dawn, give or take a handful of minutes.” Tom said, reaching over to close the inkwell and set down his quill. “I don’t need much sleep as I deal with exhaustion better than most people do. Three hours was more than enough.” Swinging his feet out of bed, he quickly pulled on his shoes. “Come down to the kitchens with me?”

                Not really a question, just a command that had been dressed as one.

                “Haven’t you already eaten?” Harry asked, his own hunger driving him to his feet to change into fresh clothes.

                “Breakfast, yeah. But I figured it was only polite to wait for you.”

                “And if I hadn’t woken up until after dinner?”

                Tom shrugged. “With my summers spent rationing because of the Muggle’s stupid war, I cope better than most with hunger as well.”

                The common room was mostly empty for the time being with only a few students reading or working on classwork in the scattered corners. But for Abraxas, seated in front of the fire with his nose in a tome, none of the members of the Knights of Walpurgis were anywhere to be seen.

                “Malfoy.” The blonde started at Tom’s sudden voice from across the room and looked up from his book. “Where are the others?”

                “I’m really not sure, Tom.” He replied somewhat nervously. “Maybe in the library? If you’d like, I can tell them that you’ve been looking for them whenever they do-.”

                “Don’t bother, it isn’t important.” His reply was flippant as he walked past without stopping, Harry on his heels. “I merely wanted to make sure they weren’t off causing undue havoc and earning a bad name for our House. Should they need me, I’ll be somewhere around.”

                “Don’t you think that’s a little bit too vague for an emergency?” Harry asked as they exited the common room, unable to prevent himself from smiling. “They’ll have to search the entire Castle with a description like that one.”

                “They will,” he said with a nod. “And that, Harry, is precisely the point. I would prefer for the both of us to go as undisturbed as possible.”

                Up the corridor and around a corner they went, and then they were standing in front of the massive portrait of fruit concealing the entrance of the kitchens. Tom tickled the pear without delay and the two proceeded into the hidden passage.

                As they had the last time that he’d gone to the kitchens, the House Elves instantly swarmed them both.

                “Mr. Potter, Sirs! Mr. Riddle, Sirs!” they squeaked happily. “What can we’s do for yous, Sirs?”

                “Lunch. We both missed eating with the rest of the school in the Great Hall.” His tone was sharp and clipped, prompting Harry to shoot him a glare.

                “You should be nicer to them, you know.” He said as the House Elves hurried to fulfill their request.

                “They’re servants, Harry, and should be reminded of their subservience.” Tom crossed the kitchen to a small table, pulled out a chair for him and then sat down. “It doesn’t bode well for those on the top of the pecking order if those on the bottom become too… Entitled.”

                “They aren’t just servants, Tom.” Harry protested. “As a matter of fact, they aren’t that much different than we are. I have a good friend who’s a House Elf!”

                “Is this the same House Elf that has repeatedly tried to kill you?”

                “Dobby’s heart was in the right place, he was just a little overzealous.”

                Tom locked eyes with him and the memory of the rogue bludger flashed through his head. “Overzealous certainly does seem to be a fitting label.” He chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table and propping his chin on his hands.

                Harry frowned. “Get out of my head, Riddle!”

                “Darling, it’s hardly my fault you can’t get me off your mind.” He hissed in pain when the raven kicked him.

                “That isn’t what I meant; you are reading my mind!”

                “A very Muggle sentiment; it’s quite unbecoming of you Harry. Besides, ‘mind reading’ is a poor description for what I can do. After all, Legilimency is _far_ more delicate and faceted than opening a book and reading its pages.” He said, pulling back the ghostly presence from where it had been barely brushing the furthest reaches of his mind. “You can’t tell me that you’ve never, not even once, had a bad experience with a House Elf.”

                He did _not_ want to talk about Kreacher, his unfortunate inheritance that had come along with Grimmauld Place which Sirius had left to him. “Why are you bothering to ask when you can just open my head and look inside?”

                “I’m not going to peel your mind like a banana, love, so you can calm down.” Tom purred. “I could. I could delve deep into the furthest corners of your brain, swim through your oldest memories, bring to bear your darkest fears. I could break your sense of self. Shatter your grasp on reality. Possess you and use you like a puppet.” When Harry quickly tried to look away the other grabbed hold of his chin and forced him to keep his gaze. “But I won’t. Because I like you just the way you are. Stubborn. Staunch. Indomitable. Fiery.” His hand traveled from his chin to his cheek, cupping his face gently against his large warm palm. “I do have quite a thing for fire. Did you know that?”

                The massive serpent, comprised entirely of flames, rearing up off of the Ministry’s black tile floor with a deafening hiss.

                “No.” His voice was dry, though he couldn’t be sure whether it was from the memories or the fact that they were once again almost close enough to kiss; another hair’s breadth more and their lips would be touching. He could feel the other’s hot breath against his face. “No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

                “Well,” the chair creaked quietly as Tom pulled away from him and released his hold; Harry found himself flustered and disappointed and more than mildly dismayed at himself over the fact, “now you do.”

                A plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice was set on the table between them.

                “Do yous need anything else, Sirs?” One of the Elves ask them.

                “No, thank you.” Harry said, hoping his face would cool down sooner rather than later while Tom rolled his eyes at what he deemed to be the other’s ‘over politeness to the help’.

                They ate in silence for a while after the Elves had left them alone, Harry keeping his eyes on the sandwich in his hand and Tom keeping his eyes on Harry in a gaze so intense that he felt that if it continued for too long he’d wind up with burns.

                Finally, in an effort to distract the other boy, he asked “how long did it take you to learn to do that?”

                “Legilimency? I’ve always had a natural talent.”

                “No. To fly.”

                “Ah, Of course that’s what you’d be interested in.” He said, picking up his cup of pumpkin juice. “It took me longer than it will take you, as I had to first invent a working theory, then craft the spell and then practice making it work. You’ll only have to do the latter. I started my second year-had a lot of time on my hands back then-and only just perfected it at the end of last year. Had to jump off the Astronomy tower the first few times.”

                Harry nearly choked in surprise. “You _jumped_ off of the Astronomy tower?”

                “Approximately five times, yes.”

                “I thought you were _afraid_ of dying.”

                “I took precautions.” The raven just stared at him and shook his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like I’m unhinged. Progress can’t come without considerable risk of harm to oneself. And, as you’ve seen, it was all worth it in the end; I’m the man who has invented unaided flight and you, should you wish, shall be my first student?”

                “Well, I am teaching you to cast a Patronus.” To Harry it was hardly an equal trade, but in Tom’s eyes being able to fill a hole in his skill set quite obviously was.

                “Indeed you are, which brings up the question: when are we going to try again?”

                “Are you ready to try again?” Harry asked, disregarding the look that Tom sent him in reply. “It’s a valid question, Tom; you weren’t able to produce anything last time because of a lack of happy memories. Do you really think you’ve fixed that so quickly?”

                “You’ve been a marvelous help.”

                “Flying isn’t enough.”

                Tom did a double take, then narrowed his eyes again. “How?”

                “I tried. It was one of the memories I used when I first attempted to cast a Patronus. It’s not enough.”

                “I still want to try.”

                “It’s pointless-.”

                _“I want to try!”_ It was very plain that Tom would not accept no.

                Fine. If Tom wanted to waste both their time Harry supposed that he ought to let him. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to avoid another part of Tom’s charade by doing so. “Does Friday night sound good?”

                The dark brunet relaxed. “That will be perfect. Six?”

                “Sounds good to me.”

                “Have you finished the paper that we were assigned in Care of Magical Creatures yet?”

                Harry blinked at him. “No. Why?”

                “Because I haven’t either. I was a bit too distracted with setting up last night’s… Activities to bother before now.” Tom told him, examining his nails. “We can work on it together, if you’d like. I know a marvelous place to study: quiet, out-of-the-way, and only I can get into it. It’ll be rather cold this time of year so you may wish to bring your coat; it will be quite a boost in productivity to avoid any possibility of outside distraction. And maybe you can even meet the… family pet. She’s a bit unfriendly, nothing like my lovely Nagini, but I can control her. I assure you. Of course, with Dumbledore sniffing around, we’d need your cloak to do it.”

                Out-of-the-way? Only he could get into it? Family pet? No. No, letting Tom open the Chamber and released the Basilisk _again_ -lending the use of his cloak to what was sure to result in death and injury-was the last thing he wanted a part of.

                Lettering on the wall, written in blood. A hateful hissing voice in the pipes. Distrustful whispers and frightened glares following him everywhere he went. His friends and acquaintances petrified and Ginny almost killed.

                ‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’

                “Harry!” Tom’s voice rang in his ears but didn’t register on him as anything meaningful. The surprise in his tone failing to get through. He barreled back out of the kitchen and down the corridor. Around corners and up stairs. The only coherent thought in his mind at the time was that he never wanted to go near the Chamber of Secrets or its entrance again.

                A hand caught him by the wrist, warm and strong, and whipped him around. Forcing him to stop running and again come face-to-face with Tom. His face contrite and blue eyes displaying confusion and guilt.

                “Harry,” he said again, softer this time. “Harry, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

                The massive snake skin left to lay on the passage’s uneven floor. The dying shriek of the great reptile as it collapsed, impaled on the sword of Gryffindor. Tom, the echo from the diary that exactly mirrored the young man now standing before him, looming over his hunched form and Ginny’s near dead body. Mocking him as the venom rushed towards his heart.

                “A songbird and an old hat.”

                “What?” The dark brunet attempted to catch his eyes again, examine his face, but fearing another use of Legilimency Harry quickly adhered himself to Tom. Burying his face in his shoulder and successfully concealing his avoidance of meeting the other’s eyes behind the guise of seeking comfort. Maybe it wasn’t entirely an act, but Harry didn’t really want to examine the matter and, regardless of whether or not he’d suffered lasting trauma from the events of past years it served its purpose well.

                Tom pulled him closer, resting his chin on the top of his head. Harry’s breath was quick against his neck.

                “I’m sorry.” The words were quiet and genuine. Large hands rubbed gentle circles into the small of his back. “I don’t know what I said that set you off, but whatever it was I’m sorry. We can just go to the library instead, alright?”

                Harry just nodded. The pair stood rather awkwardly in the middle the hallway for another minute, the raven with his face buried in Tom’s shoulder and the dark brunet softly patting his back, and then they stepped apart. Both somewhat disgruntled and determined to make an effort of pushing what it just happened out of their minds.

                Harry wasn’t quite sure when they’d ended up on the 6th floor. Had he really gone that far?

                “So,” Tom tried, stuffing his hands into his pockets and scuffing his toe against the ground, “shall we go grab our things and head to the library then?”

                “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”

                The sooner they could distract themselves from what had happened the better.

                The two boys were silent as they swiftly returned to the Slytherin common rooms, retrieved the necessary supplies and headed to the library. They sat at the same table which they had before.

                “Do you remember which page detailed the differences between Hippogriff’s and Griffins?” Tom asked, thumbing through the pages of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. “Was it 301 or 520?”

                “493, I think.” Harry replied distractedly, not having touched his own supplies.

                “Harry, that’s the page on Puffskeins.”

                “Oh,” he said, “sorry.”

                Tom wedged his finger between two pages of the textbook to hold it open and looked up at him. “Please tell me what’s on your mind.”

                _‘Haven’t I told you? Killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore.’_

                “I was just wondering,” he said quietly, picking up his quill and rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. “Do you think there will ever be a time where killing Muggles and Muggleborns won’t matter to you anymore?”

                Tom exhaled measuredly through his nose and leaned back in his chair. “We’ve already addressed this impasse, Harry.” No light words or playful flirtatious pet names. His tone was stern.

                “That’s not what I mean.” He assured him. “I’m just wondering if your mission of ‘purifying the bloodlines’ will ever be eclipsed by something else.”

                _‘For many months now, my new target has been you.’_

                “My immediate reaction would be to say no,” he said slowly, almost as if carefully navigating his words, “of course I can’t much speak for the future. Something more pressing could possibly come about. And I suppose it also will no longer matter once none of them are left.”

                “Yes, I suppose not.” Tom raised an eyebrow at his almost brittle tone but didn’t point it out. If he stayed, if he did get sucked irrevocably into the black hole of the young Lord Voldemort’s spiraling madness, what would Tom do when word of the Prophecy came to light? Would he not go after him? Would he leave him to the life he should’ve had with his parents? Or would he fail to draw any connection between the infant that the Prophecy seemed to speak of and _his_ Harry Potter. “Do you know if it’s possible to survive being hit by the Killing Curse?”

                Tom’s shift of position made it plain that Harry had taken him by surprise with the question. He tugged on the green and silver tie around his neck as if it had suddenly constricted. “Why do you ask?”

                Not for any reason he could tell him. “Just curious.”

                Still confused by his reasoning and visibly wary Tom replied “no one ever has on record.” He said. “But theoretically it is possible. What do you know of the Unforgivable Curses, Harry?”

                More than he wanted to. “There are three of them: the Imperious Curse, the Cruciartus Curse and the Killing Curse. They’re normally a one-way ticket to a life sentence in Azkaban but the Ministry of Magic permits Auror’s to use them in wartime.”

                “But what do you need to be able to cast them?”

                ‘ _You need to **mean** them, Potter! You need to want to cause pain-to enjoy it-righteous anger won’t hurt me for long!’_

                Harry swallowed, mouth dry. “Intent.”

                “Exactly.” Essay forgotten, Tom picked up the text and began tapping one corner of it absently against the table. “The Imperious Curse and the Cruciartus Curse are both easy; the want to control and the want to cause pain are buried deep within even the most righteous of men. It’s merely instinct. But the intent to kill. The _want_ to snuff out another life, especially another Human life, is not something the weak of heart can stomach. Were one to cast Avada Kedavra without the proper intent, the desire to kill without turning back, it wouldn’t work. No spell would be cast.”

                He flipped the book around in his hands before resuming the tapping.

                “Similarly, were one to attempt to commit suicide using the Killing Curse-or any other spell for that matter-it wouldn’t work. In this case, provided that they have the true desire to die, the spell will go off correctly. Rather than death, the caster will be put into a coma for an indeterminate amount of time.”

                That wasn’t something he’d expected to hear, and the surprise must’ve shown on his face because Tom smirked at him.

                “Magic is, in its own way, Sentient. Magical creatures-be they Human or otherwise-merely play host to it. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a parasite-it’s more of a symbiotic relationship-but it, like any other creature, wishes to defend itself from death. And in doing so defends its host as well. It’s for that reason that magical children, even while yet unaware of their abilities, can get out of situations which would surely be fatal otherwise. It’s survival.”

                He set the book down again with a quiet thump.

                “The magic of another can kill you. But your own magic, no matter what your intent may be, cannot. It won’t allow itself to.” Tom’s head tilted to one side. “Of course, there are exceptions to this as well. Though it’s more of a malfunction than a loophole, really, and oddly enough it’s not associated with the Killing Curse at all. Naturally, I’m speaking of Fiendfyre.”

                “Fiendfyre?”

                “A Dark branch of Transfiguration, more difficult and far more dangerous than even the ritual to become an Animagus, it requires the same amount of mental fortitude as is necessary for Occlumancy and Legilimency.” He said. “It’s unwise to cast it without such mental fortitude, as it will rage out of control and consume everything around it. Including the caster. Most make the mistake of trying to control it physically rather than mentally and turn themselves into a Human candlewick.”

                Morbid as it may be, the image was rather humorous. “But is there any way to block the Killing Curse, when cast by another person with the proper intent?”

                Tom snorted. “Don’t be thick, Harry. There’s not a Shielding Charm in the world that could protect someone from a properly cast Killing Curse.”

                Except for love. Harry subconsciously rubbed his forehead.

                “How did you get that scar?”

                He froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, Tom watching his reactions carefully from his position across the table, but was saved from having to answer when Midian suddenly appeared on his left shoulder.

                “There you are, Harry. Hello, Tom.” The Ravenclaw nodded at the Slytherin Prefect and, to his mild surprise, Tom nodded in return. “Kenny Neil and I are starting up a tournament of sorts but we need a fourth person. Are you able to play Wizard’s Chess?”

                “Yeah, I can play. But I’m not the best.” He said.

                “Marvelous. Kenny will let us into the common room; it’s happening in Gryffindor tower. Come on.”

                Harry looked at Tom, who sighed. “Go on, then. Just make sure you have that essay done by the time it’s due, as failure to turn it in would reflect badly back on me since I’m supposed to be watching you. And if any of those bottom feeders go after you again…”

                “You can come as well, if you’d like. I’m sure that no one would mind.”

                “I think you’re mistaken, Lovegood. Though I suppose I must thank you for the offer, I’m not welcome in Gryffindor tower. Besides,” Tom opened his inkwell, “I do have a considerable amount of work to catch up on. Don’t be surprised if you don’t see me at dinner, Harry. Enjoy yourself.”

                The raven continued to stare at him for a while before shrugging and allowing Midian to lead him away.

                The proper page for differentiation between Hippogriffs and Griffins was actually 235. After assembling a carefully arranged explanation of the differences in diet, habitat, behaviors and proper methods of approach and drawing out a detailed depiction of both creatures Tom rolled up the parchment and moved on to putting the finishing touches on his Defense Against the Dark Arts Counter Spell chart.

                By the time he’d completed both it was near midnight and the librarian had to all but boot him out the door. Mind wandering to how Harry’s day in Gryffindor tower had gone and whether or not he won any of the games he might’ve played, he charted a course back towards the Slytherin common rooms. Most everyone else was sound asleep by the time he returned to the dorms, including the focus of his musings; Tom quietly drew the curtains around his raven’s bedside and examined him closely. Critically searching every inch of flesh that he could see for signs of mistreatment by the Lion House brutes but finding none.

                Satisfied, he opened his trunk and began to change into his nightclothes but when a quiet whimper met his ears he paused, confused, and listened. Only when he heard it again did Tom realize where it was coming from.

                “Harry, are you alright?” He spoke quietly so as not to wake the others, but had the raven been awake he definitely would have heard him. His failure to reply confirmed that he was, indeed, sleeping.

                A nightmare then.

                Curious, Tom quietly padded back over to Harry’s bed and lowered himself onto the edge of it. Watching the familiar wild dart of eyes beneath fluttering lids. Was it the same dream he’d had weeks ago, on the night he’d woken up screaming from the Stinging Hex he’d cast without entirely meaning too? Tom doubted it. He hadn’t been whimpering then, or thrashing quite so much.

                To prevent anyone else from being disturbed by the noise, he cast a Silencing Charm around the other’s bed with a casual flick of his wand. With his other hand he began to gently pet at his wild hair, not enough to disturb him but in the hope of calming some of his distress. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect. Harry let out a particularly loud groan which might’ve been a denial of some sort, and then he said something audible that had Tom on his feet and yanking the curtains angrily closed.

                “Cedric.”

                Hissing mutinously to himself, the dark brunet threw his long body down on his own bunk and nearly ripped the drawings off their rod before burying himself in his pillows and sheets.

                Cedric? Cedric! A man’s name. A man’s name and _not_ his! What was so great about this ‘Cedric’ that he’d been dreaming about him? What had ‘Cedric’ done that he, Tom Riddle, no _Lord bloody Voldemort_ , hadn’t or couldn’t? What was this ‘Cedric’ person that he wasn’t?

                Harry had a boyfriend.

                Cedric! Cedric! Cedric!

                He’d _kill_ this bastard ‘Cedric’, whoever he was! Harry was his! His! _His_! And no one was allowed to take what was his, no matter who they were.

                Tom snarled into the mattress and commenced efforts to strangle his pillow. From somewhere beneath his bed, Nagini sighed.


	15. Jealous Streak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing fan art is by limonium-anemos; you can find them on tumblr.

It was as if he’d gone back in time to September. The first thing that Tom did when he woke up was glare at him furiously before storming down the dormitory stairs, blue eyes glittering with anger and, if he wasn’t mistaken, what looked like hurt. Confused, Harry had changed into day clothes and headed down to breakfast.

Cold air seemed to radiate from the other boy, who wasted no time in using that day’s edition of the Daily Prophet as a barrier between them the moment it was delivered. Goyle was attempting to describe to him in detail the merits of using dung bombs as weapons against unsuspecting Gryffindor first years-a feat which, considering his low intelligence, was monumentally difficult for him-but Harry simply wasn’t able to devote to the other boy his full attention.

He could tell that Tom wasn’t really reading the newspaper.

Once breakfast concluded he threw the Prophet down and flounced out of the Great Hall. By the time Harry returned to the dorms to collect his things Tom had already proceeded to their first class without him. Unable to bear the frosty aura almost visibly bleeding from the dark brunet-to the point, he noticed belatedly, that even Nagini had given him a wide berth-Harry scarpered on sitting beside him during Transfiguration and Potions and went to sit with Kenny and Minerva instead.

“What’s wrong with Riddle?” The redhead grumbled, sending an annoyed glance towards the front corner of the room were Tom now sat alone openly glaring at them as if in the sincere hope that all three would simply drop dead. Slughorn, of course, failed to notice his star student’s total lack of attentiveness to the subject. “He’s been doing that since the beginning of Transfiguration. He so sub-zero that even Dumbledore didn’t want to correct him.”

“What did you do, Harry?”

“What did I do? I don’t think I did anything. At least… Not that I can remember.”

“Did that Pratt try to forbid you from playing with us yesterday?”

“No; he told me to go. Sounded completely calm about it, too.” Harry said. “I doubt that it has anything to do with that.”

“Then what has happened to make him act that way?” Minerva asked, shuddering.

Harry shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine is. I really have no idea what’s clawed its way under his skin this time. For all I know, he slept wrong and it completely swung his mood.”

“Sounds believable. I’ve been saying for a long time that that bastard is unsound.”

“He’s not a bastard, Kenny.”

“Why are you defending him, Harry? We both know what he’s like. You even more so considering that you’re in his House.” He said. “Do you fancy him or something?” When Harry blushed instead of answering he shook his head in disbelief. “Bloody hell. You _do_ fancy-! Minerva, he fancies _Tom Riddle_!”

“Keep it down, would you!”

“He has a point, Kenny. You are being rather loud.”

“He’s not the greatest person in the world, I know that. More than most people do, believe me.” Yes, he knew far better than anyone else there-even Tom himself-how far from a good person he was. “But he has his moments. And he’s very charming.”

“Not to mention a good shag, if the rumors are true. Ouch, Minerva!”

“Don’t be vulgar, Harry’s already as red as Gryffindor’s banner!”

Why had he admitted he was into Tom again?

“Oh, come on McGonagall. Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered. Everyone has.”

“You have, then?” She snapped as class came to an end and Slughorn dismissed them.

“Nothing wrong with fantasizing. Or a spot of pointless sex once in a while. As a matter of fact they say a little bit of hate makes the shag even better.”

“Ugh! Boys!”

Tom’s glare followed them out the door. Harry threw one last surreptitious glance at the other boy, now straddling the back of his chair and staring venomously, before following the other two out.

“At least now we have a Riddle free hour.” Kenny was saying when he caught up to them. “That soul devouring stare was starting to make my skin crawl!”

“Does he always stare at you, Harry?” Minerva asked him.

He shrugged. “Not always. Just most of the time. And, though I can’t prove it, I have a feeling he watches me when I sleep too.”

“Couldn’t Nagini confirm it for you?”

“Probably.” He admitted as they headed to their usual spot by the lake. “I never thought to ask her about it.”

“Maybe you should in the future.” She said. “I know that she is Tom’s familiar, but she may be inclined to-.”

“ _Potter!!!”_

That was Voldemort’s voice, not Tom’s. Cold and sibilant and positively furious; he spun on his heel on instinct only to come near face to face with the other boy as he bore down on him. Eyes dilated to black. Mouth thin lipped with rage. His hands grabbed him roughly by the front of his robes, shaking him so hard that they tore and he fell back against one of the larger boulders.

“Tom?” He knew from both experience and the stories he’d been told that even as a school boy the Dark Lord had a problem with rage, but he hadn’t expected this. Especially not when he’d done nothing to provoke such a reaction. “Wha-?”

“ _Did you think that you could get away with it?”_

“What are you-?”

“ _Don’t play dumb with me! Did you think you could just not tell me about him? That I wouldn’t find out?”_

“Him? Who-?”

_“Did you really think you could use me like some stand in? Or perhaps engage in an ‘open relationship’, thinking playing fast and loose would be fun!”_ He roared. “ _Well, I don’t share, dammit! **You’re mine**!”_

“He doesn’t belong to you, Riddle!” Kenny started forward and grabbed Tom in an effort to pull him off him but the taller boy threw him violently to the ground.

“Stay out of this Weasley, if you know what’s good for you!” He turned on Harry again. “ _Who is he?”_

“ _I don’t know who you’re talking about, Tom!”_ Harry’s own temper getting the better of him, he found himself screaming back with equal force. Digging in his feet and refusing to show the fear that he felt in the face of the quite obviously furious male. “ _I’ve been trying to tell you that since you came storming over here screaming your head off like a bloody loon but you’re not letting me get a word in edgewise!”_

_“Who is Cedric!”_

That was enough to shake him out of his anger. “How do you know that name?”

“Because you talk in your sleep, Potter! I came back from the library last night to find you moaning like some corner whore! ‘ _Nngh_! _Cedric_!’”

“ _He’s the reason I can see Thestrals, you Pratt!”_

“ Oh, pity.” He growled. “Can’t be that great of a lover, now that he’s cold and pushing up-!”

Tom reeled back with a grunt of pain when Harry punched him in the mouth. Teeth bared and lip bloodied he coiled back on himself like a striking snake and came at him with his wand raised. The posture, snarl and promise of a painful death which shown in his eyes then exactly mirrored the diary after he’d first stabbed it with the Basilisk fang. Harry was sure a Killing Curse would come with his next breath.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Minerva’s spell sent the white wand flying from Tom’s hand. Deprived of his weapon, he seemed to regain a mild hold on his senses; the evident fear in Harry’s eyes sobered him the rest of the way. Features which had been ablaze with fury a moment before went lax as his expression became confused.

“Harry?” He questioned, raising the hand that had been holding the wand a moment before to touch the blood trickling down his chin. “You punched me.”

“You deserved it!”

“And you _both_ deserve detention!”

“Minerva!” Kenny sounded scandalized as he brushed himself off. “Riddle attacked him!”

“And he fought back instead of walking away like he should have! It’s school policy!”

“She’s right.” Tom wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. Harry couldn’t help but worry through the still present anger that he might have hit him a little bit too hard. “We should go to our Head of House. Slughorn-.”

“Will be far too lenient on the pair of you!” Minerva cut in. “I’m taking you to mine.”

“ _Dumbledore?_ ” He hissed.

“You deserve something more than a ‘control yourself next time’, Thomas!” She pointed sharply up the hill. “Start walking, both of you!”

Had he not known better, Harry would’ve expected to see his aged Transfiguration teacher marching them both back towards the Castle rather than a blonde young witch in school robes. Tom was grumbling angrily under his breath. Something about ‘has it out for me’ and ‘school policy my arse’.”

Dumbledore smiled when he saw the three of them. Tom scowled in response and turned away.

“Minerva?”

“I apologize for disturbing you Professor, but I felt that these two deserved a greater punishment than Professor Slughorn would be willing to deliver.” She explained. “Thomas attacked Harry while we were outside on the grounds and, though it was admittedly in self-defense, Harry punched him back.”

Seeming to notice Tom’s still bleeding lip for the first time the elderly wizard chuckled.

“Lover’s quarrel, have we?” Tom sneered, Harry blushed and both looked in opposite directions. “That will be all, Minerva. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Once the door closed behind her, Dumbledore looked over at them again. “You skipped class in order to assault Mr. Potter during his free period? Such… Blatant violence is quite unlike you Tom.”

“… My emotions… Might have gotten the better of me.”

“And you, Harry?”

“I didn’t act any better, Sir.” And he hadn’t. Even if Tom had been utterly off-base and had been aggressive first, he should’ve at least made an effort to handle it better.

“Very well. 25 points each from Slytherin. And you’ll both be cleaning the trophy room on Saturday.”

“Yes, Professor.” Both muttered.

“You may go. Please refrain from any more rows, high emotion or not.”

“We’ll try, Sir.” Harry promised as Tom slipped through the door without a word. He found the other awaiting him at the end of the hallway. “Going to go after me again?”

“No, I… Don’t bother with going to detention on Saturday. I’ve got it.”

“But-.”

“You were defending yourself. You shouldn’t suffer repercussions when I’m the one who attacked you. I just couldn’t cope with…” He turned away from him, shoulders curling inwards as if to shield his body from physical attack. “I shouldn’t have kid myself. Of course someone like you was already spoken for; how could you not be?”

Lasting anger aside, at the obvious hurt which laced the other’s tone Harry couldn’t help but soften. He sighed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes.

“It’s not what you think.” Tom turned his head slightly but didn’t speak. “He was straight, Tom. And so am I… or at least I thought I was. Regardless, he was a friend of mine and nothing more than that. I didn’t even know him that well.”

He was very aware of the weight of the other’s gaze but didn’t allow the fact to show.

“He died when I was 14. Was murdered, all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the wrong place at the wrong time because I made him come with me.”

Tom turned to face him fully now, comprehension taking root within the depths of his dark eyes. “You saw it.”

He nodded.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was.”

“So that really was a nightmare, last night?”

Harry nodded again. “Yes.” He said. “I tend to have a lot of them.”

But never like the one he’d had the night prior. When he had stood trial before all of Voldemort’s countless victims, Muggle and Magical, stranger and friend, and been forced to admit that he was in love with their killer.

“I’m sorry.” The words were pale and Tom seem to recognize that, as he spoke quietly with a downcast gaze. “I still can’t believe that I… I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you to someone else. You’re so much like me. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

The truth or more acting? Harry couldn’t be sure. He closed the gap between them and took the other’s hand; Tom followed without question, allowing the other boy to lead as he pleased. And though he sent a sidelong look of confusion at him when the door to the Room of Requirement popped into being he didn’t resist being tugged through it.

Harry hadn’t known entirely what to expect from his request, but a cavernous room full of objects of every shape and sort wasn’t it. Books and odd items, most of which he couldn’t name, surrounded them on all sides in great arching hills, parting before them in a way which led them both to precisely what he was looking for.

“Watch the vanishing cabinet.” Tom cautioned as Harry strayed a bit too close to the item for his liking. “Blasted thing has been broken for longer than I’ve known about this place; they can be dangerous when they malfunction. Where are we going?”

                “You know.” They rounded the foot of yet another hill and found themselves in a clearing amidst all the clutter. Sitting there, in the center of it all, was a grand piano. “This is where you’d go, back when no one knew you. Before you were the King of the school. You’d come here because you felt at home with other things which had been cast aside.”

                “How did you know that?” Tom was looking at him as if he’d never seen Harry before. “How could you possibly know any of that when I never told you? There’s no possible way, unless-.” His eyes widened. “You weren’t joking when you said Nagini told you I could play.”

                “ _No.”_ He hissed. “ _I wasn’t.”_

                “You’re like me. A Parselmouth.”

                “Being able to speak to snakes isn’t the only thing we have in common, Tom. Among many other things I know what it’s like to be discarded, never know your parents, and be hated and feared by your assigned guardians.” He yanked the sheet from where it had been draped over the instrument. “I know it’s been a while, but do you think that you could play something for me?”

                The dark brunette continued to gawk at him a moment longer before his face rearranged itself into a smile. “Of course. What would you like to hear, Precious?”

                “Whatever you love to play the most.” Sheet music appeared from nowhere atop the instrument’s glossy lid. He opened it and looked over at him with a smirk. “Chopin?”

                “I like to be impressive, darling. And I’m a bit partial to the difficulty of something like _Fantasies Impromptu_.” Propping the music upright, he sat down lightly on the bench and then pulled him down beside him. “Do keep in mind, I’m terribly rusty.”

                “I wouldn’t know the difference, Tom.” Harry reminded him as the other experimentally pressed down on some of the keys. Both recoiled at the sound.

                “Merlin is this thing out of tune. One moment.” Leaving the bench, he opened the lid of the piano and tinkered around with something inside it a few moments before calling out “play something.”

                “Tom-.”

                “Not music. Just… Press a key. Any of them.” Compliance was met with a tutt of “too tight” and more tinkering. “Try again.”

                This time the sound seemed to be satisfactory, as he returned to the bench and after briefly examining the music started to play. His hands flew across the keys in both directions. Fingers skittering agilely through complex patterns dictated by the black dots on the pages in front of them which, much like the stars that Tom had showed him, Harry couldn’t decipher for the life of him.

                The other boy paid little mind to the music, glancing only occasionally at it when need be but spending most of his time watching Harry watch the motion of his hands like a cat might watch a toy. It made him chuckle a bit, but the other was too wrapped up in the piano’s song to really notice. Only once he was done did he turned his head to look at him again.

                “You call that rusty?”

                “Perhaps merely slightly tarnished.” Tom replied with a shrug, fingers tracing once more over the play of ivory and ebony. Touching without pressure. Simply marveling at the smooth feel of the worn keys. “It’s been so long. So very long since I’ve given even the barest time of day to music. I was carried away by other things, consumed by… wants that are frankly quite foolish.” His left pointer finger worried gently at the small chip in the high E key. “It feels so good to play again. Would you like to hear something else?”

                “That would be nice, but… I’m going to be late for Charms as it is. And you have-.”

                “I think I’ll stay here a while longer. Muggle studies is… Hardly important.”

                Tom had repeatedly shown himself more than willing to skip classes in order to cause mischief or merely shadow him in some manner, but this was the first time he seemed to truly want to do it for himself. Harry hadn’t thought such a small thing as a piano would have the reaction that it did.

                “I forgot myself, Harry.” He said it so quietly that the other boy almost didn’t hear. Hands still upon the silent keys. Eyes staring blankly at the music as if able to see through it to another world beyond. “I don’t know who I am anymore. It's like I’ve gone blind; like I’ve forgotten how to see what faint light was there. Or maybe it’s gone out.”

                “You can remember, Tom. You don’t have to be Lord Voldemort; there are other paths.”

                “Are there really?” He didn’t sound convinced. “Who would stand by my side if I were to not become Lord Voldemort? Who would stand beside Tom Riddle? Tom Riddle is weak.”

                “I would.” The other looked at him then, fighting not to show a slight but stubborn trace of reluctant hope. “Remember what I told you: there’s more to life than taking over the world.”

                “And if I can’t change?”

                “I doubt anything is impossible for the ‘great’ Tom Riddle should he put his mind to it.”

                “Do you, now?”

                “I’m not going to give up on you.”

                Tom was left staring after him for a considerable amount of time after Harry had walked away before he managed to unfreeze and returned his attention to the piano. Paying the still present sheet of music no mind, he tapped out the opening notes of Claire de Lune and grinned to himself.

                Precisely how much did he remember?

                By the time another voice disturbed him Tom had played through Marche Funébre, Nocturne and Moonlight Sonata from memory and completely lost track of any concept of time.

                “ _Master is playing the noise box again?”_

He started slightly and looked up from the keys, nearly brushing noses with his familiar. “ _Nagini.”_

                “ _I had wondered where you were, Master. Was concerned with how angered you were this morning. I found Harry, and he told me that you were here when last he saw you.”_ She said. “ _It is nice to hear you play again.”_

_“It’s nice **to** play again.”_ He said. “ _I apologize for having worried you. Though I feel like I’ve been doing that for quite a while now.”_

                Nagini hissed a wordless, though still somehow assenting, reply.

                _“So you **have** been talking to him.”_ She drew back slightly. “ _I’m not angry. I would’ve been, had I learned earlier, but today…? Did he ask you not to say anything?”_

_“No. He never told me not to speak to you,”_ Nagini admitted slowly. “ _He told me that he wanted to help you. So I assisted him with what I knew of your past.”_

                “ _I see.”_

_“Are you displeased, Master?”_

_“I’m not.”_ Tom reached out and gently picked her up, allowing her to crawl up his arm and wrap around his shoulders. “ _You know I’m not the type to enjoy having my secrets spilled, though with him I find it difficult to mind.”_

He carefully traced the diamond patterns on her dark green scales with the fingers of his left hand.

                “ _There’s more you want to say, Nagini. I can tell. You don’t need to worry; you know I’d never harm you, no matter how angry you might make me. And angering me is a difficult thing for you to do my lovely._ ”

                “ _I…”_ She hid her head beneath the collar of his robes, unable to meet his eyes, _“have a question, Master.”_

_“Then ask, my dear.”_

Nagini seem to take a deep breath and steel herself. “ _Are you in love with him, Master? Are you in love with Harry Potter?”_

Tom’s hand stopped cold, then lowered back to his side. Slowly settling in his lap.

                Was he?

                He’d researched everything he could on the subject. Had built the perfect persona around the idea that he could trick him into falling for him; had known that it was working. But what he hadn’t expected was an equal reflection of those feelings back onto himself.

                “Am I in love with Harry?”

                He was ready and more than willing to clash with him whenever he felt the need to. Asked strange questions and was more stubborn than an ogre. He was striking, with those green eyes and that strange lightning scar. Tom truly did want him, to hold him and keep him safe and happy.

But that didn’t mean it was ‘love’.

                When he’d mistakenly come by the belief that Harry belonged to someone else it felt as if a knife had been plunged straight through his heart and into his soul. Pain and jealousy had mixed into an explosive cocktail and emotion had gotten the better of him; how close he may well have come to _hurting_ him left Tom feeling horrified and ashamed.

                But that didn’t mean it was ‘love’ either.

                _“I don’t know, Nagini.”_

                What Tom did know is that, like an old scar ripped open by fresh injury, the empty hollow in his chest had once again begun to ache.


	16. Worse Than Death

Tom was leaning against the closed door of the rattling cabinet, one knee drawn up to his chest as he sat watching the door and a smirk on his face, when Harry walked in.

                “Why, Professor,” he purred, rising to his feet, “you’re late.”

                “Tom, its 6:01.”

                “Yes, it is, but _you_ told _me_ class started at 6:00 darling.” He prowled towards him, crossing the floor with graceful strides of his long legs. “Perhaps there ought to be detention?”

                “Since when have the students given the Professors detention?”

                “I’ll make it worth your while, Harry. I promise.” He said, backing him into the wall and pinning him there with one hand to the right of his head. “Wouldn’t you like to see for yourself if the rumors about me are true?”

                Harry ducked from beneath his arm, determined not to allow himself to even consider what the answer to that question could possibly be. “We are here to work, Tom!”

                “There are many different ways to ‘work’, Precious.”

                “ _On the Patronus charm!_ ”

                The dark brunet chuckled, turning to watch as he made his way over to the cabinet. “Perhaps after, then? Give you a _new_ memory to use to call your stag.”

                “Another word and I will sick the Boggart on you!”

                “Of course, darling.”

                They locked eyes for a moment, Harry glaring and Tom openly smirking, before the taller boy broke their gaze.

                “I’m ready when you are, Harry.” He told him, abruptly serious. “I’ve three memories selected from our recent time together which may work to at least some effect. I’d like to begin efforts as soon as possible.”

                “Alright. Take a moment to call it to mind. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll open the cabinet.”

                Regarding the three memories he’d gathered at the forefront of his mind, Tom selected the first that he wanted to attempt to leverage as a weapon against the faux Dementor and carefully examined it.

                ‘ _Deathly paranoia of the older than dirt petrified sapling underneath him dropping out of the sky aside, he couldn’t deny that Harry Potter looked like he belonged on a broom. He watched him shoot off after the little glowing orb with a smile on his face, imagining how he might look in a gloriously tight emerald uniform.’_

                A signal to the other boy had the tattered specter moving towards him. He raised his wand and spoke the incantation but, as before, nothing happened. He’d learned from mistakes made the last time they’d practice with the Boggart and quickly spun out of the way, allowing Harry’s Patronus to toss it back into the cabinet’s confines.

                “Well, memory #1 was a failure.”

                “Two more to go.” He replied. “Ready to try again?”

                “Give me a moment to fully focus.”

_‘The ground was cold and the rock was cold but despite his discomfort and the growing crick in his neck he didn’t want to move for fear that it would jostle his raven. Wrapped up tightly within his coat and with his head resting on his chest, the green-eyed boy had fallen asleep against him.’_

                When the not-Dementor emerged again the charm remained stubbornly elusive. Beginning to become annoyed, Tom shook his head.

                “That’s two out of three of no use.”

                “Maybe you haven’t had enough time yet, Tom.” He said. “We can wait. Try again later.”

                “No. I have one more to try before we give up.” Again, Tom began rolling his wand back and forth in his hands, a nervous tick that Harry hadn’t ever seen exhibited by anyone else. “One more time. Please, Harry.”

                “Alright.” He relented. “Once more. But even when it’s not a real Dementor you shouldn’t push yourself; now that I think about it I should’ve thought to ask the room for chocolate before now.”

                “Chocolate?”

                “It helps.”

                “That’s absurd.”

                “But effective.”

                “Regardless, even if you had thought to ask, the Room of Requirement can’t summon food.” Tom reminded him. “Make a mental note of it for next time.”

                ‘ _” I would.”_

_He stared at him, dumbstruck and in total shock. The world was cruel. The big ate the small. The strong prospered. The weak died. Mercy got you killed. And yet this stubborn, ridiculously thickheaded, unreasonable, **beautiful** person was telling him that he would stand beside him even if he were to abandon infamy for obscurity and keep the name of a weak willed Muggle man._

_And all without a shred of insincerity and those clear green eyes._

_“I’m not going to give up on you.”’_

                “Expecto Patronum!”

                A faint puff of silver mist, barely visible but undeniably _there_ , curled gently from the tip of his wand. Tom was so surprised that he nearly dropped the length of yew onto the ground. Harry, too, seemed shocked that he’d managed to call something forth-even if it was a rather pitiful display, especially when compared to the powerful body and wide horns of his stag-and watched the metallic wisp drift lazily towards the ceiling before beginning to fade from sight.

                Both were brought back to reality by the heavy thud of the Boggart hitting the floor.

                With a quiet sigh he lowered his eyes to the floor, expected to be greeted by the shrapnel torn and all too realistic double of the dark brunet, but instead was met with something else. In retrospect it took him longer than it should have to recognize exactly what it was that he was looking at.

                The figure on the floor was considerably shorter and thinner than Tom was, the front of their ripped school robes stained dark with blood and their green and silver tie wrapped too tightly around their neck which had been bent at an odd angle as if broken. Their wild black hair was matted down with gore, face cut to ribbons by the shards of glass and sharp wires from their broken glasses and their green eyes were frozen wide and glossed over.

                If he’d wanted proof, he supposed that this would be it. Especially when coupled with the dark brunet’s repeated failures to banish it; each successive cast simply caused the creature to change position and worsen condition. It wasn’t until the look of pointed distress on the other’s face was almost painful that he stepped in to banish the creature back into its cupboard.

                “Are you alright?” He asked him, concerned. “You managed that spell fine last time.”

                “Forgive me for my lacking capability to find anything even remotely humorous in the concept of you dying!”

                He stepped around him and stalked to the other side of the room even as it began to change around them. The rattling cabinet disappeared and a hearth, flames included, sprung into being from the wall in front of him. Their surroundings shifted back into the same room used as a meeting place by the Knights of Walpurgis, although the banners weren’t present and the long table had been replaced by a couch of emerald leather. The overstuffed cushions wheezed as he collapsed onto them, arms thrown haphazardly across the back of the handsome piece of furniture and neck curved over the top of the cushions. His eyes were closed and jaw set, and his quickened pulse was visible against the side of his neck.

                “Tom.” No reaction. Harry moved to the front of the couch and tried again. “Tom.”

                “I’m not clear on when it happened.” He raised his head and opened his eyes. “When my fear of death changed. Transitioned from a fear of dying to a fear of losing you forever; losing you to something that even the most powerful magic in the world could never truly bring you back from.” His hands were shaking as he brought them into his lap. “It was jarring, sure, when it was my own corpse I would see lying on the floor but there was also a sort of… detachment to it. Because I knew it wasn’t real; I was looking at it so I couldn’t really be dead. There’s no such sense of assurance when it’s the body of someone else.”

                “I was standing three feet away, Tom.” Harry said, sitting down beside him.

                “But I couldn’t be sure that you were real,” Tom turned fully in his seat to face him, their knees lightly knocking together. “All I knew was what I saw. And what little of me wasn’t horrified was… In pain in a way that I didn’t know was possible. There was no humor to be found that could fuel Riddikulus; it just made it worse.”

                It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something similar. Harry distinctly remembered the time that Mrs. Weasley had tried to deal with the Boggart the summer prior, and as she became more and more hysterical the thing had changed from dead family member to dead family member. Each incarnation far worse than the last.

                “This is… Going to sound very strange.” Tom tried to smile, but his face merely gave a rictus spasm which fell miserably flat as he reached imploringly towards him. “Can I… Touch you? Just to make sure. That you’re real. Really here.”

                It certainly was an odd question, though not the strangest thing he’d ever been asked. “I don’t see why not.”

                The taller boy cradled his face in his hands, cupping his chin and tracing the tips of his fingers along the curve of his jaw all while looking at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And then, quite suddenly, he was yanked forwards and fell against the dark brunet; Tom buried his face in his black hair and refused to let go. After a few moments of shocked struggling he relaxed against him, listening to the other’s slightly stuttering breaths and allowing himself to be held. Noticing, but not putting too much thought into, the fact that the couch had become a love seat and the armrest which had been an entire cushion’s length away was now pressing into the small of his back.

                When Tom finally released his hold on him it was to immediately grab his hand and press it against his chest. Close enough that he could feel the other’s heart beating against his palm through the fabric of his shirt.

                “For the longest time I truly believed that I was born without a heart. That I didn’t need one. That I didn’t want one. Now I know I always had one, but I could never hear it; because of what I have done there’s not much left. But I don’t want to lose any more of it than I already have.” His grip loosened, allowing him the opportunity to remove his hand should he wish to. “I can’t find my way out of the dark on my own, Harry. Please, show me the path you talked about. I want to leave Voldemort behind.”

                “You already have.” He gently extricated his hand. “You’ve made the right choice, Tom. But what about the others?”

                “Changing them would be impossible.”

                “That isn’t what I meant. What are we going to do about them?” Harry asked him. “Surely they’re not going to be happy when they learn that they won’t be getting a place in the ‘new world order’ that you’d envisioned.”

                “No, they won’t be. Which is why we won’t tell them.”

                “And they won’t get suspicious?”

                “Darling, have we been associating with the same people?” He asked. “You really think that someone like _Goyle_ is capable of comprehending that anything has changed without having it explained to them in language simple enough for a Mountain Troll to understand?”

                “And what about Nott? Lestrange and Malfoy? What about Avery?”

                “That… They’re under a certain belief… You see, I…” Tom stopped, looking regretful, and then asked “exactly how much did Nagini tell you?”

                “To put it simply, I was forewarned not to believe anything of your affections until I received proof. Which, I suppose, I have now.” Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, messing it up even more. “And, let me tell you, resisting you was bloody hard.”

                “Well… When our ‘game’ first began I was confronted by Avery and informed him of my then intentions.” He said. “Crab and Goyle are all but brain-dead and couldn’t care less what’s going on around them. As for the others, they believe that I intend to wrap you in my loving coils and strangle every ounce of light from you even if the effort is harder than squeezing blood from a stone. Just… Pretend to be brainwashed or something.”

                “I’m sodding at that!”

                “Well, at least try! And I’m not suggesting you need to go full-blown drooling sycophant-don’t glare at me, that’s Kenny’s description of them not mine-or that you have to do it all the time. Just when appropriate. And only until I figure out our next step.”

                “Next step?”

                “Yes.” He said. “We’ll probably have to leave Britain; their families are all pureblood and have a lot of influence around here. We could transfer to Durmstrang. Or Illvermorny-I have always wondered what it might be like across the pond in America.”

                “Tom,” Harry cut in, “I think running is a little bit of an overreaction. Everything will be alright.”

                “But-.”

                “Let’s just worry about getting through until break for now.” All of their immediate problems would be solved, then, by escaping into the future of an alternate timeline. Of course that little tidbit of information would have to be breached with a fair bit more delicacy than he was capable of at that particular moment. “We can focus on what to do then.”

                Tom looked reluctant, but nodded regardless. “Yes, perhaps that is for the best.” He sat back against the pillows of the loveseat neé couch and pulled the watch from his robes. “We’ve already been here for three hours; that’s a bit of a surprise. I don’t feel like going back to the dorms. Do you?”

                “I’d be fine with staying.” The loveseat morphed again into a pair of beds. “Two?”

                “I hadn’t wanted too push you too far too quickly, Precious.”

                “I think that ship sailed when I passed out on top of you.” The two beds join together into one and two pairs of clean night clothes materialized at one corner. “Just keep your clothes on.”

                “I think you’d be aware, by now, if I had the proclivity to sleep naked, dear.” He said with a smirk. “As, likely, would the rest of the school given how fast and far the rumors of my prowess have spread.”

                “You’re going to tell me they aren’t true?” Harry found himself half hoping that he would confirm that they weren’t.

                “Oh no, Precious. I won’t lie to you.” Tom prowled over to him on all fours and pulled him against his chest. “I am, indeed, _quite_ experienced. Perhaps, once you’re sick of being a virgin, you’d like to _personally_ experience just how true those rumors are.”

                “I can still ask the room for the other bed back, Riddle.”

                “Oh, my darling, you’re quite the prude aren’t you?” He chuckled and nuzzled closer into the back of his neck.


	17. Misalignment

At some time between lunch and breakfast Tom woke up still lying curled on the large bed in the Room of Requirement, his body tangled so completely with Harry’s that he could hardly tell the difference between his own limbs and the raven’s. Harry had, at some point in the night, rolled over onto his side and was now facing him; head half hidden in Tom’s neck and button-down cotton shirt rucking up slightly to show a tantalizing strip of pale flesh.

                He was sleeping peacefully and quietly with no nightmares, the only sound in the room his quiet breathing and the occasional soft rustle of fabric as Tom made a slight shift in position. He almost felt bad waking him up, but he was beginning to grow bored and quite a bit hungry to boot; the room couldn’t provide food-one of its few faults-and making a minor bother of himself could temporarily alleviate some of the mental pain caused by his stagnated attentions.

                The other boy grumbled sleepily when Tom rolled over on top of him, putting just enough weight against the raven’s slighter form to make his presence known. Green eyes opened into a bleary glare.

                “Riddle,” he groaned, “get off me!”

                “Morning, darling.”

                “Get off! You’re heavy, you Pratt!” He aimed a sleep-weakened push at him.

                “Oh, pish.” But the dark brunet allowed himself to be unseated and rolled back over onto his side of the bed. “I was being careful not to put too much weight on you; don’t overreact.”

                “Too early for this.” He turned his back on him and nested down further into the bedding.

                “Precious, it’s nearly noon.”

                “ _It’s Saturday.”_

                “And?”

                “You sound like Hermione, Tom! What next, are you going to tell me to do my homework, too?”

                “Well, that depends. Did you finish that Care of Magical Creatures essay?” Harry aimed another blind swipe at him but missed. Tom chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. Just do it whenever you wake up. And remember that I have that detention tonight; I won’t be back in the dorm until late.”

                Harry replied with a pillow muffled grumble that might possibly have translated to “go away!”

                Shaking his head as he got up from the bed-not failing to notice the fact that the other wasted no time in commandeering the entire comforter-Tom quickly changed back into his robes which the room had apparently laundered and exited the room. Despite the chill leaching into the Castle’s cavernous halls he felt comfortably warm and wore smile on his face which was a bit more self-satisfied than usual as he walked back to his House’s common room.

                He’d made it to the dorms without being called out on the fact when a recognizable voice noted “you certainly seem pleased with yourself, Riddle.”

                “Avery.” His tone instantly frosted over as his gaze fell on the other boy, sitting on the edge of his bed and leering at him in a challenging way which he really did not appreciate. “Watch your tone. You toe the line.”

                “Where have you been?”

                “I don’t owe my subordinates a detailed syllabus of how I spend my time.”

                “No, I mean where have you been. There’s a week left of October and since the beginning of school the Knights of Walpurgis have had three meetings.” He growled at him. “I don’t respect you, I respect the power you could give me, and I’m not afraid of you either. You’ve forgotten us, it seems; you’re wasting all your time on that charade with Potter.”

                “And he’s falling for it!” he bit out. “I have him precisely where I want him. Now all I need to do is make sure that I can keep him there.”

                “How do you know-.”

                “I slept with him last night; no one as stubborn as him would submit to that degree unless they’re willing to be controlled. I have Potter by the throat, and I’ve gone through a lot of trouble to get him there. I will not allow _anyone_ to interfere. Am I understood?”

                “I-.”

                “Am. I. Understood?” Tom hissed, taking a threatening step forwards and watching the other boy recoil somewhat.

                “Yes.” He reluctantly relented after a few moments further. “Yes, you’re understood.”

                “Good.” Turning his back on him Tom proceeded the rest of the way to his own bunk. “Things will resume as normal after break. I will tolerate no further questioning. By anyone.”

                “I understand.”

                “See to it the others do as well. Make sure that it’s known I’ve put my foot down; anyone who goes against my ruling and questions me will be subjected to the Cruciartus Curse. For whatever period of time I deem appropriate.”

                “I’ll make sure they know.”

                The other boy took that as his cue to leave, much to Tom’s relief. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he bent over and looked beneath it. Locating Nagini seconds later through the shadows.

                “ _Have you really slept with him, Master? You do not smell as you normally do after mating.”_

 _“That’s because I didn’t, um, ‘mate’ with him. I said what I had to in order to get Avery to bugger off.”_ Reaching under the bed, he allowed the serpent to crawl up his sleeve. _“And it wasn’t entirely a lie. We did sleep together, in the same bed. It was unexpectedly pleasant to wake up next to another person.”_

_“You’re playing a dangerous game, Master. Even venomous snakes must be cautious of antagonizing hyenas.”_

_“I’m always playing games, Nagini. The rules may have change but the danger is the same.”_ He stroked her head as he dismounted the dormitory stairs. “ _And I’m not alone in doing this. Not this time.”_

                “ _Two snakes are still outnumbered by seven hyenas, even if two of them,”_ her amber eyes passed over Crab and Goyle as they walked by, _“have pumpkins for heads.”_

Tom couldn’t contain a chuckle at that.

_“Where is Harry?”_

_“Still sleeping; I tried to ensure that he would wake up at an at least somewhat reasonable time but he kicked me out.”_ He said. _“Leaving the hibernating bear to remain comatose a while longer, I’ve decided to have a spot of lunch before looking into something.”_

_“Looking into what?”_

_“I have a feeling that something isn’t quite right with my lovely green-eyed raven. That he’s hiding a bit more than a rare gift behind that sweet face.”_ Catching sight of Peeves just in the nick of time, he sidestepped the deluge of pink ink which the poltergeist had attempted to dump over his head and sent him packing with a flurry of blue sparks. “ _He’s far too knowledgeable about me; being able to speak to you doesn’t account for all of it. And then there’s the occasional odd thing he says. Things aren’t quite lining up.”_

_“I know you do hate having loose ends.”_

_“I do indeed.”_ He pushed open the doors of the Great Hall and settled gracefully into his favorite seat. “ _I’ll make use of my time without Harry around to begin to attempt getting to the bottom of all of this.”_

_“You can make use of the punishment that the old one assigned you for laying claim to your mate to further that as well.”_

_“You’re right, my lovely.”_ Tom pursued a stray carrot around the perimeter of his plate. “ _I’d almost forgotten the fact, but he did mention that his father-James-won a trophy. Something about Quidditch. Perhaps I can find it and at least get a basis on where he’s come from.”_

_“Might I ask why you don’t simply ask him?”_

_“I do plan to, eventually. But he’s been toeing around something-I noticed it last night when we were discussing our next move-and isn’t likely to reveal it before he’s ready to without something being leveraged against him first. And another thing you know about me is that I’m not particularly patient.”_

_“What are you going to do between now and the beginning of your detention?”_

_“A bit of research into him. As well as the Cup of ’38. I’m not particularly into Quidditch-I wasn’t lying when I told him I know next to nothing about the game-but I have a bit of an itch in the back of my mind that the nations which played in the finals of the World Cup he mentioned **weren’t** Ireland and Bulgaria.”_ Draining the remaining contents of his glass, he rose from the table again. “ _Will you accompany me, or would you rather head off on your own? Go back to sleep in the dorms our head out to the grounds and go hunting for rabbits?”_

 _“I can sleep on your shoulders, Master, and it is far too cold now to go outside. Even if it is to hunt.”_ She hissed. “ _And I wish to spend time with you, especially considering I will soon have a second Master who will be dividing your attention.”_

_“And to think they say serpents aren’t affectionate. Are you jealous of Harry, Nagini?”_

_“I might be, were he not also a speaker.”_ She told him. _“And I do appreciate him for his efforts to prevent you from continuing the way you have been.”_

 _“I haven’t given up on my ends, Nagini.”_ He replied, starting up the grand staircase. “ _However I no longer believe they blindly justify the means.”_

_“I would never expect that you would give up on your want to change your Human society for the better. Perhaps you’re right that it’s going down a doomed path. But I’m relieved to know that you’re no longer willing to sacrifice your sanity for your cause.”_

_“Sanity is an important tool to be able to direct others.”_ Tom agreed. “ _Without it, I might unintentionally make things worse after all.”_

 _“And your quest for immortality?”_ She asked. “ _What of the Horcruxes? Of ruling as a King forever?”_

 _“Death won’t be so bad if he goes with me.”_ The familiar smell of parchment, ink and dust met him as he walked in through the library doors. _“Besides, expiration dates make things interesting. When you only have so much time to work with, you make the most of it.”_

_“Yes, I am most pleased with the results your mate has brought about.”_

_“He’s not my mate yet, Nagini.”_ Tom said. _“I think were close to being able to refer to each other as such, but were not quite there yet.”_

He briefly stopped to consult the librarian before heading over to the first of the indicated sections of the library.

                “ _Do you foresee a nest with him in the future?”_

_“A nest? You mean a home?”_

_“That’s what I said; a nest.”_

                A home of his own? A home of his own with Harry? He hadn’t really thought about it before she’d mentioned it, but now that she had Tom found himself able to envision it so clearly. A lavish manor all of their own, funded by his earnings after having become Minister of Magic. Furnished with all the finest things and filled with the rarest and most informative books and items. A place where they could live happily, enjoy each other’s presence behind closed doors and entertain their guests; Harry’s closest friends and their families.

                _“I do, Nagini. I do.”_ He searched the spines of the aged books. _“I will build for him a nest of gold and precious jewels. Fill it floor to ceiling with all of the finest things. Gift him whatever his heart may desire and provide for him in whatever career that he might choose. I have to be the model mate, after all: he deserves no less.”_

_“And will there be hatchlings in the future?”_

                The copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ slipped through his fingers and fell onto the shelf below with a thump.

                “ _Nagini, you do realize that neither Harry nor I possess the ability to bear children as we’re both male.”_

_“I’m sure there’s a spell for it somewhere. And if there isn’t, I’m sure that you can concoct one.”_

_“It would be rather difficult, not to mention rather inhumane, to test that though wouldn’t it? And I’d never use something on him that hasn’t been tested.”_

Nagini didn’t reply. He picked up the dropped book and moved on to the second indicated section of the library in search of the other that he required.

                “ _I suppose it would be nice to have children of my own. To be able to love more than myself and one other. And to continue Slytherin’s line so that the great gift of Parseltongue does not die out.”_ He skirted the end of one of the bookshelves. _“However, there are some things in nature that perhaps should not be messed with. And, what with us both being orphans, perhaps adoption would be a better method. Not only for us but for the child.”_

                Yet it was so tempting. In his mind’s eye, the manor’s halls became the playground of a child. A boy with his hair and Harry’s eyes, chasing a toy snitch with a snake on his heels.

                _“The future will never come to be if we don’t defend the present. And I find myself a bit perturbed by the knowledge that he knows more about me than I do about him.”_

_“Will you be upset with him should you learn he is hiding something from you?”_

_“Mildly. But I can hardly rightfully abhor my own methods now can I? Not with him, at least.”_

He sat down in a wing backed chair beside one of the library’s windows, positioning himself in a place where he had plenty of natural light to read by. As he opened _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and began flipping through it in search of the information he was looking for Nagini crawled down his arm to get a better look.

                “ _The flying golden ball looks like a bird.”_ She noted, eyeing one of the moving pictures as it flipped by. “ _I like birds. They’re delicious. Do you think that the flying golden ball would taste like a bird, Master?”_

                _“Ask Harry. He’s eaten one.”_

_“I shall, Master. I wonder if he’ll agree with my opinion on birds. And he does have that pretty white owl.”_

_“Please don’t eat Hedwig. That would land me in hot water.”_

_“I would never do anything to get you in trouble with him, Master. Especially while you’re courting: it’s a delicate time for mates.”_

_“It is indeed, my lovely.”_ Catching sight of the heading he’d been looking for, Tom quickly turned back to the correct page. _“Here it is.”_

                He swiftly scanned the article and frowned.

_“This book says that the final match of the World Cup of 1938 was played between Germany and America. Didn’t Harry say Ireland and Bulgaria?”_

_“He did.”_ Distractedly, he thumbed through a number more pages until he found a timeline. “ _The one played this past summer was between Japan and Tanzania,”_ he traced the timeline backwards with careful attention. “ _The last time either of the two nations that he mentioned were in the World Cup at all was when Ireland made the preliminaries. And that was over 80 years ago.”_

_“This proves something?”_

_“It proves I definitely need to keep an eye out in the trophy rooom tonight, though he could’ve been mistaken as to which nations were playing.”_ It was incredibly unlikely. “ _Which is why I grabbed this other book as well. If he is a member of the same Potter bloodline that I’m thinking of then there should be some mention of him-or the very least his father-in Sacred Bloodlines.”_

He knew intimately how to navigate _this_ book. It was the very same he’d consulted in search of his own lineage and his father-who for so long he’d falsely believed to be his magical parent-only to find his mother, and Salazar Slytherin, instead.

                Locating the Potter family tree was an exercise of considerable ease, and though he found no Founder listed therein he couldn’t deny the name Ignatus Peverell was more than just a little bit impressive.

                _“Hardwin Potter, Ralston Potter, Abraham Potter, Henry Potter. Hmm_.” He sat back in the chair. _“No James Potter. Or Harry Potter for that matter, but this tree looks strange.”_ Below the lowest currently existing branch of the Potter family tree was something ghostly and obviously there but impossible to make out almost as if it had been written in invisible ink or something similar. He’d never seen that before. “ _Something is definitely not right here, lovely. Though whether Harry has anything to do with this particular family tree’s abnormal behavior I can’t be entirely sure. I’ll most certainly have to make use of my detention tonight to seek out the last bit of necessary information I’ll need to fully confirm he’s not precisely who he says he is.”_

_“And what will you do if he isn’t, Master?”_

_“What will I do?”_ Tom repeated, closing the book and setting both aside on a small end table. “ _I’ll share with him what I’ve discovered and hope he’ll be willing to tell me the truth.”_


	18. Dissonance

                Nagini watched the play of their reflections against the darkened glass of the Castle’s fifth floor windows as Tom made his way swiftly towards where he hoped the school’s trophy room lay.

                “ _So annoying; how many floors have we searched now?”_

_“Three.”_

_“Who’s the idiot that decided moving rooms were a good idea; we’re going to be late, Master!”_

_“Not quite late, just cutting it close.”_ He rounded the corner and relaxed the set of his shoulders slightly when he caught sight of Dumbledore’s tall thin form standing outside of the trophy room’s doors. “ _Here it is.”_

_“Small mercies.”_

The aged man turned at the sound of his footsteps and the dark brunet had to fight to keep his face neutral. “Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. I’m here for my detention.”

                “Indeed you are, Mr. Riddle. And precariously on time, might I add.” He said. “Trouble finding the trophy room?”

                “Only minor complications; last I saw it was when it was on the third floor.”

                “Oh yes, it enjoys being tricky every once in a while.” Dumbledore glanced fondly at the door and Tom took his chance to roll his eyes. “Where, if I might ask, is Mr. Potter?”

                “To be honest with you, I don’t really know. I haven’t seen Harry since this morning; more like early afternoon really. Regardless, he isn’t coming.”

                The other wizard’s eyebrows rose. “And why would that be?”

                “Because I told him not to, Sir. School policy aside I was the aggressor and all that Harry is guilty of is defending himself; he does not deserve to be punished.”

                “You’ll be cleaning the entire room on your own, then. You are aware?”

                “I am.”

                “You’ll likely be spending a number of nights here, then.”

                “I’m prepared to.”

                “And, remember-.”

                “No magic. I’m aware.”

                Dumbledore continued to stare at him from behind the lenses of his crescent glasses for a while longer before he asked “is there something that you wish to tell me, Tom?”

                Detecting the subtle probing of his walls, Tom only narrowly suppressed a sneer: no way in hell he’d let the old fool into his head now of all times. Not when he’d buckled to a force he’d once considered powerless. _Old codger is smarmy enough without something else to gloat about._ He thought bitterly, but offered a pleasant “no, Professor,” and a small shake of his head. “Nothing.”

                “Very well, then. I’ll let you get on with why you’re here, Tom.”

                Tom quickly slipped into the trophy room as the older wizard walked away. The doors closed behind him with a low creak and a thud and the torches hung in brackets bolted to the stone walls flared to life. They shed a flickering glow across the countless hundreds of trophies-brass and copper and silver-which glinted at him from beneath a considerable layer of dust.

                The shining rag in his hand suddenly felt inordinately heavy as Nagini crawled down his back and onto the floor.

 _“You know what to do, my lovely.”_ He said in the soft hiss. “ _Take the left half of the room and I’ll take the right; I know that I won’t be able to get through even a third of these trophies tonight but cleaning isn’t my concern. Locating James Potter’s name amidst all of this gaudy decoration is.”_

_“I shall help you search, Master. But shouldn’t it be simple to find?”_

_“It should be; a Quidditch trophy should be in the Quidditch trophy cabinet but with the amount of awards and trophies and plaques amassed here I’m sure more than a few of them are intermixed.”_ He said, picking up one trophy and quickly examining it before moving on to the next. “ _If you find it, let me know.”_

 _“I will, Master.”_ Nagini pulled herself up into the Quidditch trophy cabinet.

                An hour passed of more reading than cleaning before Tom found himself breaking into a coughing fit amidst a cloud of dust. “ _Merlin!”_ Dropping both the plaque he’d been holding and his cleaning rag, he swiftly covered his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. “ _I swear they specifically pay that worthless squib Caretaker **not** to touch this room just so they can make students do it. Ugh!”_

Nagini hissed in what might’ve been agreement, green scales hidden beneath an inch thick layer of gray. Tom wrapped his tie around his mouth and nose and resumed working.

                By the time the clock tolled midnight and his stint in detention for that night was over there was so much dust in his hair than it made him look over 80 years old and his clothes were so grimy he felt that he might have to burn them. He’d cleaned barely half of what he thought he’d managed to, but between the two of them he and Nagini had examined and read every trophy contained in the room.

_“Did you find it?”_

_“No, Master. Did you?”_

_“No.”_ He said. _“I didn’t.”_

_“We’re going to confront Harry on the matter, then?”_

Tom nodded. “ _We will. But not yet.”_ He turned into a hidden passageway, well aware of the trail of filth the two of them were leaving in their wake. _“A stop by the Prefect’s Bathroom is mandatory first. We must look presentable; Precious won’t be able to take us seriously if we look like dust bunnies that have just crawled out from underneath the bed.”_

_“Mmm. Bunnies.”_

_“You do love rabbits. I know, lovely.”_ He barked the quite frankly ridiculous password “ocean breeze” at the door and stepped into the bathroom beyond. “ _Whoever decided on the password to this room needs a boost to their creativity.”_ Tom turned every knob and lever he could get his hands on without bothering to look at them, causing the massive tub to begin to fill with hot water and clouds of vaguely pink-tinted bubbles. “ _I feel absolutely disgusting.”_

                He ripped off his robes, swiftly followed by the clothing underneath, and stepped hurriedly into the water.

                “ _Even disgusting as it is to be head to toe and filth and even as undeserving of having to take part in this punishment as Harry is in the circumstance, I would’ve enjoyed the presented opportunity of having him in the same bath as me.”_

 _“Perhaps in the future, should you succeed in fully winning him over.”_ Nagini happily slid into the warmth as well, lifting the grime from her scales. “ _Though I think that you’d find more enjoyment in that occasion in a smaller tub.”_

 _“I think you’re quite right about that, though at this current point in time I’m not so sure that he would.”_ He looked at the mixture of shampoo and dust now smeared across his hand in open discussed. “ _With the amount of Pearl-clutching Harry does one might get it into their heads that he’s a Gryffindor.”_

_“He acts like one.”_

_“It’s undeniable he has a streak.”_

_“Maybe the streak is Slytherin but the rest of him is Gryffindor.”_

_“Perhaps.”_ Submerging himself briefly to clear the suds from his hair, he came up dripping. “ _If that’s the case then I must say, he makes quite the attractive Chimera.”_

                Deeming himself acceptably clean, Tom pulled the plug on the drain with his left foot and dragged himself from the massive pool. Water fell in rivulets down his back and chest as he searched through his clothes for his wand in order to summon a towel before swiftly drying himself off.

                _“Now that you and I are both properly clean and presentable, shall we proceed back to the common rooms?”_ Noticing she wasn’t beside him as usual, he turned to scan the bathroom. His eyes quickly fell on her long, green body. “ _Lovely, why are you still in the bath?”_

_“I can’t get out on my own, Master. The lip is too high.”_

                “ _One moment.”_ Returning to the side of the tub, Tom bent down and retrieved his familiar from the geography of bubbles.

                “ _Thank you, Master.”_ Nagini wrapped her coils around his shoulders, soaking his already dampened school robes further.

                “ _Naturally; I wasn’t about to allow you to drown in a bathtub after all the times you’ve been there for me.”_ Vanishing the towel once again with a flick of his wand and killing the lights, Tom left the Prefect’s bathroom and returned the Slytherin common rooms. Harry was sitting up in bed, half folded over himself in a position which was entirely unnatural, but straightened up when he heard Tom’s footsteps move around his bunk.

                “You’re back.” His voice was rough with half sleep; Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose and forced his eyes to focus on him. “You’re wet.”

                “As always, your powers of observation floor me Precious.” The dark brunet replied quietly. “Did I wake you?”

                “No.” When Tom raised an eyebrow at him Harry amended, “well, yes, but I was _trying_ to wait up for you.”

                “Why?”

                “You weren’t at dinner.” From beside him, he produced an apple and held it out. “You brought me food once; I figured I should return the favor. After all, I know how horrible it is to go hungry.”

                “Yes.” He accepted the apple but made no move to eat it. “Yes, that’s the thing that’s been concerning me for a good few hours now. Exactly what you know. Or, more accurately, who you _are_.”

                He didn’t respond immediately, but it was obvious that all traces of exhaustion were gone. “I’m… Not sure what you mean.”

                Tom smiled, rolling the fruit between his hands. Dragging his fingertips over the smooth glossy skin. “Very Slytherin of you.” He said. “But you lie like a Gryffindor: terribly.”

                “What’s all this about?”

                “Which nations did you say played in ‘38 again?”

                “Ireland and Bulgaria.”

                “You’re certain?”

“Completely.”

“And there’s absolutely no possibility you could have made a mistake?”

“None.”

“I looked it up, Harry. In ‘38, Germany played America.”

“Maybe you’re right; there was a mistake.”

“I read through every trophy in the room; your father’s wasn’t there.”

“Maybe it was misplaced.”

“No.”

“There are a lot of trophies in that room, Tom.”

“And between the two of us, Nagini and I read all of them.”

Harry shifted in obvious discomfort but refused to relent. “You must have missed it, Tom.”

“I looked up the Potter bloodline. The one you said you were descended from.” He kept his gaze on the apple. “Your father wasn’t on it. Neither were you.”

“I-.”

“Spare me, would you? I think you’ve insulted my considerable intelligence enough.”

Harry had no response.

“I’m not upset with you. But I know you’re hiding something. Have I not shown you that I’m willing to change for you, at least as much as a creature as broken as I am is able?”

“Tom-.”

“Trust me!” He looked up at him then, blue eyes meeting with and boring into green. “Please, Harry. Tell me who you are.”

For what felt like hours the two stared at each other, the silence between them as heavy as stone. Then the raven broke their gaze and looked down.

“You won’t believe me, Tom.” He said. “I can’t tell you.”

“Precious-.”

“But I can show you.”

The dark brunet pulled up short and blinked at him in confusion. “Show me?”

“Yes. Show you; like I said, if I were to just tell you, you’d call me a lying Git.” Getting out of bed, Harry quickly proceeded to his trunk and pulled out his invisibility cloak. “We’ll have to do a bit of breaking and entering to get to the item I’ll need, but between the two of us I’m sure will be able to get away with it.”

“Any Felix Felicis left in your trunk, just that we can make sure we aren’t caught?”

“Unfortunately, no. I use it all at that meeting that you invited me too.”

“Marvelous. Are we going?”

“After you eat.”

“Really, Harry?”

“Yes, really.”

“ _He has a point, Master.”_ Nagini said softly. “ _No matter how eager you may be to solve some of the mysteries surrounding your mate, you need to take care of yourself.”_

Harry looked over at Tom with a perplexed expression. “’Your mate’ am I?”

“She started referring to you as that on her own, don’t look at me like that!” Tom took a semi-reluctant bite of the apple. “Just what item are we stealing?”

“We aren’t stealing it, were using it.”

“Fine then, just what item are we _using_?”

“A Pensive.”

The other boy quickly swallowed and wiped the juice from his chin. “There’s one of those at Hogwarts?”

Harry nodded. “There is.”

“I assume I’ll learn why you know that soon enough?” He said. “Alright. Where is it?”

“The Head Master’s office.”

Tom almost inhaled what was left of his apple. “You want to break into the Head Master’s office in the middle of the night? Are you _kidding_ me, Potter?”

“Better do it now than in the daytime. If you really want to know, you’ll risk it.”

“If we’re caught, we’ll be-.”

“Killed or worse expelled?” Harry cut him off. “I’ve heard it all before. You know the password to get passed the gargoyle?”

“No.”

“Can you guess it?”

Tom’s reluctance subsided somewhat as he rolled his eyes and scoffed “Merlin, Precious. You think I can’t get passed a bloody statue within a handful of guesses of Muggle drink names?” He vanished the apple core and grabbed a corner of the cloak. “Let’s get this potentially educational-career ending fiasco over with.”

Harry smirked as they concealed themselves beneath the cloak. Once outside of the common room, he tapped the Marauder’s Map with his wand and whispered “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The pair opened the map between them.

“Alright, the Caretaker’s on the second floor so we won’t have to worry about him for the time being. Peeves is in the library and Dippet is in his chambers; we’ll hope that he’s asleep.” Tom said. “We’ll need to move quickly if we really want to get away with this. Especially if you have as much to show me as I’d like to think.”

“No time to waste, then. Let’s go.”

Hunched beneath the cloak, the pair rushed up from the dungeons and through the corridors until they came to the gargoyle which barred the way into the Head Master’s office. One last check of the map later, they pulled the cloak from their shoulders.

“Dippet likes his drinks: start naming alcohol.” Tom told him. “Malt whiskey!”

“Mulled Mead!”

“No, Harry. _Muggle_ alcohol!”

“Brandy, then!”

“Pale Ale!”

“Scotch!”

“Belgian Whit!”

“Ginger beer!”

With a grinding sound so loud in the abandoned hallway that it made both boys start and look behind them as if and fear someone would come rushing out of the darkness to deliver punishment at any moment, the gargoyle jumped aside. When no Professors immediately appeared, the pair exchanged a quick glance before rushing up the unveiled staircase.

“Careful, the door creaks.”

Harry turned the knob slowly and pushed it carefully open to unveil the empty room beyond. It was odd to see the Head Master’s office under someone other than Dumbledore; Fawkes, his stand and many of the more fantastical items-as well as the candy dish-were all missing. Both boys moved quietly, mindful not to risk disturbing any of the portraits or the current Headmaster sleeping in the room overhead.

“So where is the Pensive, Harry?” He asked the raven.

“The cabinet.” He tried the door, relieved to find it wasn’t locked, and revealed the great stone bowl hidden inside. Tom stared in surprise as Harry pulled off the lid and set it carefully on the ground.

“Merlin,” he said, “we really do have one. Have you any idea how rare they are? Or how much they’re worth?”

“Not particularly. And I’m not entirely sure how to work it either.”

“You’ve never used one?”

“No, I’ve used one quite a few times but I’ve never had to supply the memories before.” He admitted. “I had it explained to me once, though it was rather vague. I hope this works.”

Tom watched, wary of even the slightest sound around them, as the other boy dropped memory after memory into the shallow stone bowl. When Harry finally stepped back, he offered a somewhat uncertain smile.

“I think I’ve managed it.” He said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Think you’ve managed it, do you? Let’s hope I don’t get stuck.” Equal parts eager and anxious, the dark brunet took the raven’s place beside the stone basin. “You’re certain this is how you want to go about this, Harry?”

“It’s the quickest way for you to understand, Tom.”

“Fair enough.” Turning his eyes to the phantasmal contents, he leaned over the lip of the Pensive and allowed himself to fall.


	19. Heart By Heart

Tom Riddle plummeted through the wispy surface of the surrounding passing thoughts like a stone through the cold water of a pond. Spinning with a total lack of control through shapeless puffs of black and silver, broken images and disconnected voices, before landing in the first memory with a heavy thud. Had it been the real world, he’d have been in a considerable amount of pain. As it was, he was currently lying on his back on the dusty wooden floor of what looked to be a cabin or hut of some sort.

It was so run down and decrepit that his first thought was that he’d somehow wound up back in the hovel where his relatives on his mother’s side had lived. Rain and wind, as well as the crashing of what might’ve been ocean waves, surrounded him on all sides-rattling the walls-and lightning flashed outside of broken windows streaked with grime and salt.

He sat up and looked around, his eyes at first falling on the contents of the grimy fireplace-a diminutive flame fueled by the remnants of chip wrappers and what looked to be what may have once been lettering parchment-and then on the boy lying on his stomach on the floor, drawing in the dust in front of him. Getting up and dusting himself off on impulse despite knowing he wouldn’t have any dirt on him-it was a memory for God’s sake-Tom crossed the room to get a better look at the boy and what he had drawn.

A trio of somewhat off-shaped circles joined together into what he assumed was meant to be a cake, both from the eleven poorly drawn candles atop it and the lettering he’d inscribed across its front.

**Happy Birthday**

**Harry**

                “Harry?” And, of course, he knew that the other couldn’t hear him but Tom couldn’t stop himself. He was horrified by what he saw; he’s precious raven lying on the dirty floor in clothes that didn’t fit, beanpole thin, while the couch had been taken over by a whale of a Muggle boy in a room lit by a fire fueled with, he’d begun to suspect, Hogwarts acceptance letters.

                “Make a wish, Harry.”

                Tom’s shriveled heart broke for the small boy as he extinguished the imaginary candles, scattering his cake made of dirt to the wind. And then everything was happening at once. Something heavy was assailing the barely solid door. Two more Muggles, a man equally as wide as the second boy and a birdlike and severe woman, rushed down the stairs with a shotgun in hand. The door fell in with a great crash, it’s badly corroded hinges unable to bear the force of the collisions, and in plodded a massive form that he recognized instantly and with great shock as Hagrid. There was shouting, the gun was bent in half, a letter of acceptance _finally_ made it to its rightful recipient and the raven was told of who he really was.

                Than the bird woman started shrieking about his mother, called him a freak-had this been real and Tom had his way the Muggle bitch would be _writhing_ on the floor by now-and then she insinuated that his sister and her husband, Harry’s parents, had gotten themselves blown up.

                Everything snapped back into focus then, almost as if time slowed back to a normal rate. Allowing him to comprehend the whole of what was being said.

                “Blown up?” Even while so young, he sounded the same while indignant. “You told me they died in a car crash!”

                “A car crash?” The great oaf-though he did have a new measure of respect for him considering the way he handled the shotgun-shouted angrily. “A car crash killed Lily and James Potter? No! And Harry of all people ought to know what really happened.”

                His beady black eyes, set into a harsh bearded face, turned onto the small boy. Entirely oblivious of the dark brunet who had positioned himself protectively at his right shoulder. “I’m not really the right person to tell you this, but since no one else is around… There was a wizard in our world about 20 years ago who went bad in the pursuit of power. Of course some would say he went bad a right long while before that. He’d kill anyone who went against him-the only safe place was Hogwarts and that was only because of Dumbledore-and when you were just a baby, about 10 years ago now, he came to call at your house.” Fat tears welled at the corners of his eyes, running down his face into his wiry beard, and his voice became almost inaudible from sobbing. “He killed your parents. Tried to kill you too, but couldn’t; the scar on your forehead is because of the curse he tried to use. You’re famous, Harry. Famous because you’re the only one to ever survive when he wanted you dead. Famous because you defeated him, though no one knows how.”

                “Dark wizard?” Harry repeated. The dark brunet had to commend him; he was taking the information astoundingly well. “A Dark wizard killed my parents and tried to kill me?” The half giant nodded. “What was his name?”

                “Oh, Harry, I-.”

                “You said that I of all people ought to know.” Tom grinned at that one.

                “Well, yeah. Yeah, I did. I…’You Know Who’… I’ll say it, but only once. Don’t make me repeat it.”

                “I won’t. I promise.”

_That’s it, love. Broker for the information you desire._

                “The Dark wizard’s name was…”

                “Grindlewald.” Tom hissed, hatred of the so-called ‘Dark Lord’ who had once been his competition flaring violently only to instantly burn out when an entirely different name was spoken in a hesitant voice.

                “Voldemort.”

                _No!_

                Horror flooded through him like ice water, but before he could even begin to process the information he’d gained the memory exploded into black and silver and he was falling again.

                When next he landed it was in a stone chamber, his raven penned in by fire and facing off against a man with two faces.

                “Give me the stone.” The voice of one face hissed, stringent and cold. “There is no such thing as good and evil, Harry. Only power and those too weak to seek it. Give me the stone and I’ll give you your family back in return.”

                “Don’t listen to him: nothing can bring the dead back!”

                But the child in the memory couldn’t hear him. Tom watched him proceed down the stairs and stand before the mirror. Saw the ‘stone’ appear in his pocket. Heard him lie, unflinchingly, to the two-faced monster. Watched him defeat the creature merely by touching it, as if his hands were soaked in powerful acid.

                As the memory went black again and he was whisked once more to another place the dark brunet was left equal parts confused by what had happened and in complete awe of whatever the small boy had done.

                When his surroundings stopped spinning and re-solidified he realized that he was standing in one of the wide, bone-strewn passages of the Chamber of Secrets. Mere moments after he’d come to the conclusion of precisely where he was Harry, now older though not by much, rushed passed him. With nothing else to do, he pursued the memory of his raven’s younger self. Dreading what he would see while at the same time knowing he needed to view everything that Harry had to show him in order to understand.

                The little boy-if he had to judge, he’d say his age was likely 12-clambered over the lip of the passage and leapt out onto the flooded tiles of the antechamber of the Chamber of Secrets. There was even more water in the Chamber than he remembered there being. Lying on the floor on the edge of a deep pool was a red-haired girl in the same redlined robes as Harry. Unconscious. Clutching to her chest what looked like a book.

                Leather bound. Black with gold capped corners. Well cared for, if often used and more than a little bit soaked. There was lettering near the bottom as well. As Harry fell to his knees and began a desperate attempt to rouse the girl, he stepped closer and leaned down to get a better look at the writing.

**Tom Marvolo Riddle**

                It was his diary. His diary held in the possession of a girl whom he guessed from the color of her hair to be a Weasley, who could in no way be a Parselmouth yet was somehow lying near dead in the middle of Slytherin’s Chamber.

                But that meant…

                Sensing something behind him, Harry whirled around with the near shocking suddenness. His eyes seem to focus on him and he said “Tom?”

                He stiffened, blue eyes widening in surprise. He couldn’t possibly see him, could he? That wasn’t how memories worked; he hadn’t noticed him there the last two times. How did he even know what he looked like, at 12, when they hadn’t met until he was 16?

                “Hello, Harry Potter.”

                His voice, though not spoken from his own mouth, issued from behind him making Tom pivot quickly on his heel. And there, emerging from the shadows, was a perfect double of himself. Looking exactly as he did in that moment. Hair. Eyes. Robes. Even the Prefect’s badge pinned to his chest. He walked forward slowly, face carefully blank but eyes full of cold cruelty, and bent to pick up Harry’s dropped wand.

                No. No. No. This couldn’t possibly be happening; Horcruxes weren’t supposed to be able to do _this_! Yet there is no other explanation for what he saw before him now. His 16-year-old double mocked the boy, taking great pleasure in revealing his duplicity with the creature that had taken his family from him and left him marked with a fate he didn’t want.

Tom understood, at last, why even vague mention of the Chamber had sent the other into a fit of panic when his cruel double summon the Basilisk from its containment and sent it against him. Ordering it to kill him.

Despite being a Gryffindor, he turned and ran.

And tripped.

His glasses flew off. The great serpent reared up over him with a murderous hiss. And then, with the great shriek in a flurry of scarlet feathers, Dumbledore’s Phoenix appeared, dropping the Sorting Hat into Harry’s lap before ripping out the creature’s eyes.

“This is what Dumbledore sends his great defender? A songbird and an old hat?” His double jeered. “No matter, Potter. She can still hear you.”

A bone snapped under Harry’s foot. The Basilisk’s attention focused on him instantaneously and he bolted into a nearby passage. Neither Tom nor his memory double made any effort to follow Harry, though unlike his doppelgänger-serenely watching the life drain from the girl on the floor at his feet as he fingered the stolen wand-his attention ricocheted from the scene in front of him to the numerous openings around them as he waited for the other to reappear.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He spoke quietly while mimicking his double’s stare. “Haven’t you done enough to him without trying to take his friends too? Without setting the Basilisk on him?”

But of course the echo gave no reply.

“He’s going to destroy you.” Still no reaction. “He’s going to destroy you, defeat you, and I’m going to enjoy seeing it happen!”

A quiet splash from behind him marked the raven’s return; showing the astounding bravery he’d come to expect from him, Harry completely ignored his double despite the fact that he was armed. Refusing to falter even after it was confirmed that his friend was on the brink of death. And when the Basilisk reappeared in an explosive eruption of water he made no attempt at escape.

What he did instead, to Tom’s complete shock and pointed chagrin-he’d tried and failed to track down even the slightest trace of the blasted thing for years now after all-was reach into the Sorting Hat and pull free the sword of Godrick Gryffindor. What followed was an impressively horrifying stupidly reckless clash of a 12-year-old-small for his age-and a thousand-year-old Basilisk-60 feet long from nose to tail tip-that ended with the serpent dead and Harry near it. Dropping the blade to the floor with a clang, he pulled the massive fang free of his arm and returned to his friend’s side.

The pain he must’ve been in had to have been overwhelming but rather than succumb to it the boy had the wherewithal to destroy the diary-with great spite, might he add-with the thing that may just have killed him. Tom watched the Horcrux explode into sparks and light, watched the girl wake and watched Harry tell her to go find her brother and leave him there because he was going to die. He was helpless to prevent the venom from doing its work. But the Phoenix was not; the last thing he saw before the memory transformed yet again was Fawkes crying over his wound, his hands stained with the ink which had flowed like blood from the diary.

                Brief flashes of a Horntail’s snapping jaws, armed merpeople and wildly lashing vines shot before his eyes before-in a blur of bright blue-Tom found himself standing in the graveyard behind his father’s manner. Harry-at least two years older now than when last he’d seen him-hit the ground with a thud alongside another boy who Tom didn’t know on-sight, clad in the black and yellow robes of Hufflepuff.

                The portkey, an impressive trophy spangled with a rather shocking label of **TRI-WIZARD CUP** , landed on the ground nearby with a thump and a clank and rolled to a stop at the foot of a gravestone.

                A brief exchange between Harry and the other boy-Cedric, he realized with a pang of pain for what he knew from the other’s explanation the raven was about to see-occurred before the door of a shack opened and a rodent-like man emerged holding what looked like a bundle of cloth in one hand and what he recognized as _his_ wand in the other. Harry cried out when the other boy was consumed by a blast of sickly green light and immediately began to struggle when the reaper statue over his father’s grave pinned him in place.

                The rat man was Wormtail. The coward who had sold out Harry’s parents to him. As Tom watched him conduct some spell he didn’t recognize, slash open his raven’s arm and then lop his own hand off, his hatred of the man who had made his Precious suffer intensified. As both he and Harry watched in horror, the rat man dropped the _thing_ that had been in the bundle of cloth into the cauldron to join with the rest of the odious mixture.

                A tall, skeletal figure-skin scaled and as white as the belly of a dead fish-rose from the cauldron. The shadows condensed around its hairless body to form robes. A chill passed through him as massacre colored eyes, slitted like a cat’s, shifted over where he stood and fell onto Harry.

                He was so engrossed in trying to determine when and where he’d gone so off the rails that he’d ultimately wound up looking like _that_ that Tom almost missed his own explanation of what caused his fall from power at Harry’s hand to begin with.

                Love. Because his mother, a Muggle born witch, one of the class of people he’d consigned to cowardice and weakness, had loved him enough to give her life to protect him when she could’ve lived. Love and blood had combined to save him. A protection which had now been lost.

                He watched the as Death Eaters, as his Knights were now called, were summoned and punished for not standing by him. Watched as Harry was released, tortured and then forced into a duel. Watched as Prior Incantatum saved his life, and the ghosts expelled from the tip of his wand allowed him to escape back to the cup and disappear.

                The next memory was so saturated by agony that even Tom, merely watching, was taken off his feet. He collapsed to his knees on the black tile floor scattered with glass that had been pulverized so finely that it resembled drifts of snow. Clutching at his head as if it’d been split by an axe as fire and death clawed and ripped their way through his veins. His own wordless scream joined his raven’s pleas for someone, anyone, to please just kill him! Kill him and release him from the white-hot coils of the serpent which had wrapped itself around his soul.

                Thankfully that memory was brief.

                He was still curled up in the fetal position and shivering from the aftershocks of mental pain far worse than Crucio could ever be when the memory changed a final time. Harry stood with a much more aged Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office, looking himself as if he’d just come out of the Pensive.

                “Tell me Harry, if I were to tell you that you could go back in time and prevent one event of your choice from ever occurring would you do so?”

                The raven looked at the white-bearded now Headmaster with wary caution before delivering a careful answer. “If such were possible, Sir, I think it’s safe to say that most people would.”

                “Would you be an exception?” He shook his head in a silent reply of the negative. “What would you change?”

                Harry opened his mouth to deliver a reply, but pulled up short at the last possible moment. Stopping the eager words which had rushed to the tip of his tongue and taking a moment to consider all of his options. “I would stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort.”

                This answer seemed to be more than satisfactory to the older wizard, who nodded slowly. “And how would you go about doing that, Harry? Would you kill him?”

                He should have. It was what he deserved. But Tom knew that Harry was far too good of a person to ever do something so cruel, even if it could potentially be necessary.

                “Kill him?” As Tom had suspected he looked unreasonably horrified by the prospect. As if he couldn’t imagine ever ending another life. “No. I wouldn’t kill him. But I’d do all in my power to save him from himself.”

                Tom ripped himself free as the memory came to an end, collapsing back forward but catching himself with one hand against the rim of the stone basin as the other flew to his mouth. He was shaking, his lashes were wet and he felt like he was going to be sick at any moment.

                “Tom.” Harry’s voice was too gentle. The touch of his hand on his shoulder too kind.

                He whirled around, grabbed his wrist and yanked the sleeve of his robe back. Unveiling the proof he hadn’t really needed and confirming that everything he’d just seen had been truly, horribly real.

                “Why?” It came out dry and barely audible. “After everything I’ve done to you, why? You aren’t supposed to be able to love your enemy, Harry.”

                “You’re not my enemy. And you haven’t done anything to me, Tom. That was all Voldemort. And you’re not Voldemort anymore.”

                “Only because you bothered to come back for me when you should’ve left me to rot.”

                “You were never given the chance to be anyone other than the Dark Lord.” Harry told him, watching the play of raw emotion contorting the taller boy’s handsome tear-streaked features. “The Headmaster wanted me to retrieve you so that you could help us. I agreed to go because I thought that you deserved _someone_ who would be willing to offer you a way out.”

                “So you decided to defy fate?”

                “As you’ve seen, I’m good at doing that. Have a habit of it, even.” He smiled when the brunet gave a broken chuckle in response. “Is the ‘great’ Tom Riddle really crying?”

                “Crying? Of course not, don’t be stupid!” He turned his back on him and hastily scrubbed the evidence away with his sleeve. “So you’re from the future, Harry?”

                “Sort of. More of an alternate timeline, really.” The raven said. “It’s the ‘90s there.”

                “’90s?” He repeated with a note of surprise. “No wonder that old Git look so… Well… _Old_. And no wonder your family tree looked so strange; you aren’t alive yet in this timeline but your presence has affected it.” Catching sight of the other’s concern he waved a hand. “Not enough to alter anything. Calm down.”

                That was a relief.

                “I would suppose that Voldemort,” it would be something he’d have to get used to, referring to his older self by the moniker he once would have taken, “has more Horcruxes?”

                “He does. Dumbledore suspects a number, but he can’t be sure if he’s right.”

                “But he expects me to be able to assist you somehow?” Harry nodded. “Reasonable enough. Get Hedwig and your things; we should return to your timeline immediately.”

                “We can’t, Tom.”

                Tom stilled, then turned to face him. “Merlin, Potter. You’d better not be about to say you’re stuck here.”

                “I’m not, but that’s not to say we can just pick up and leave whenever we feel like it either.” He told him, holding up his hand so that the ring on his finger caught the dim starlight. “This is how I traveled here to begin with, and we can’t go back until it reactivates.”

                “And when will that be?”

                “The first night of break, though at precisely what time I’ve not the slightest clue.”

                “I suppose that’s a better option anyway; introducing an exchange student at the start of the second semester will create fewer waves than doing so in the middle of the first. And the nearly a month and a half between now and then will be useful in creating a persona for myself; I’ll need it to pass inspection.” Rapidly becoming lost in thought and almost seeming to forget where they were, Tom began to pace.

                “We should probably head back to the common room; we’ve been here for a while and we don’t want Dippet to wake up and catch us.”

                “Naturally. Put the Pensive up, I’ll check the map again.” The raven nodded and bent to retrieve the lid. “And Harry?” Setting it carefully in its proper place, the other boy turned to look at him again. “I’ll make you this promise now: everything that he’s taken from you, I’m going to give you back. Somehow. Even if I have to move Heaven and raise Hell to do it.”

                “I’m sure that you will, Tom. But you don’t have to.”

                As they pulled the cloak back over themselves and started down the stairs, Tom kept his respectful disagreement to himself.


	20. Leave Out All The Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art on this chapter is from an art/story trade I did with a close friend of mine. If this actually becomes a thing we may have some more for other stories.

“Didn’t you read the invitation I left on your bed, Precious? It’s a _masked_ ball.”

                Harry had, indeed, read the invitation that had been left on his pillow but naturally Tom had left it until the last moment to give it to him; he was lucky that he kept his dress robes from the Yule Ball dispite thinking he’d never use them again but hadn’t even known where to begin to go about getting a mask. Even so, he felt like he looked presentable enough.

                Of course he still paled in front of Tom. The taller boy wore a Victorian-style double-breasted vest over a shirt of emerald silk and immaculate black slacks. His hair was perfectly in place and over the top half of his face was seated a Venetian mask of delicate silver vines woven into the likeness of a fox.

                “You seem to be missing something.”

                “Yes.” There is a bit of a snap to his voice as he watched the dark brunet descend the grand staircase towards him. “But someone didn’t give me notice in a timely enough manner for me to acquire an entire outfit.”

                “You tried to find a mask around the Castle? Even snuck into Hogsmeade perhaps?” He took the mild glare he sent as affirmation. “You should’ve just asked me to Transfigure you one, love. Come here.”

                Before the raven could protest, Tom had pulled his wand out and waved it carefully around his face in an intricate pattern. Molten silver threading shot out of the tip, rapidly weaving together into form and adhering securely and comfortably to his face.

                “There, now. Even your glasses don’t get in the way.” Tom moved so that Harry could see himself in the dark window. “Take a look.”

                Concealing both his glasses and the upper half of his face, the silver threads rose upwards into pronged peaks of impressive height that gleamed in the light like crystal spires. “A stag?”

                “Fitting, I think.” He said, offering his arm for Harry to take. “You share the greatest affinity with the stag; it is your Patronus after all. You bring grace to even the most challenging situations, are gentle without being defenseless and are in touch with the innocence of your inner child.”

                “Did you look that up too, Tom?” He asked, linking his arm with the taller brunet’s.

                “Maybe,” he smirked, “but you can’t say it isn’t accurate.”

                “Why a fox?” Harry asked him. “Knowing you, the Heir of Slytherin, I would’ve expected a snake.”

                “Well, a serpent hardly makes for a recognizable mask. Not enough definition to it, you see.” Tom explained to him as they started down the hall. “Besides that, I didn’t want to look like… Well, like _Him_. You know precisely who I mean when I say that; I never want you to see me in that light again.”

                He did know.

                “What does a fox mean?”

                The other seemed happy for the swift change of subject. “A cunning trickster who associates with the Dark, but is not inherently malicious. He’ll just as soon be antagonist as teacher; is discerning, aware and most skilled in navigating sticky situations through wit as sharp as a razor.” They passed a pair of girls who eyed them both with a jealous glint in their eyes but neither boy paid any mind. “Many think the fox and the snake are bedfellows, but it’s really not true. The serpent is black. The fox is grey. Prejudice against a mixture of Light and Dark aside, Shadow and Darkness are _not_ the same.”

                “Sometimes a little bit of Shadow is necessary.”

                “I doubt that you’d be here if such weren’t the case. But let’s not speak of that anymore tonight. It’s Halloween. We’re headed to a party. This may be the last chance that we get to truly relax for a long while to come and you and I ought to take full advantage.”

                Harry couldn’t deny the wisdom of Tom’s words and leaned his head against his shoulder. “What is the Slug Club, exactly?” He asked him softly as they strolled towards the Potions Master’s Dungeon. “Being the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ and the son of one of his ‘favorite students’ I was an automatic recipient of his… Attention. Of course I only attended one of the Club’s meetings-an informal lunch on the Express-before I came here so I’m not quite clear on the point of it all.”

                “An investment, of sorts.” He replied. “I’m sure you realized quite quickly that he enjoys the perks of fame without the rigor of the spotlight. He takes the chances he has to ‘make an impact’ in hopes of reaping the benefits of being the favorite teacher.”

                “I see.”

                “Indeed. I find it rather distasteful myself, but he has his uses time and again. Will give you or tell you anything so long as you know how to ask for it.” They took the stairs two at a time. “The majority of this will be rather tedious, be prepared, but there should be opportunities for a bit of wholesome revelry.”

                Tom pushed open the doors and the pair swept inside.

                The Potion’s Dungeon had been transformed into a bright welcoming room, draped in silks and satins in bright colors. Numerous couches and chairs all outfitted with swelling cushions in an array of loud hues sat around at random. Waiters in tuxedos navigated the room with trays laden with drinks, winding their way between the countless masked figures which filled the large room from wall-to-wall. Music was playing from the curved throat of an old gramophone set up in the corner of the room.

                “We’re a bit late; hopefully we’ll be able to avoid most of the mindless chatter this way.”

                As Tom finished speaking, the clear clinking of a spoon against a crystal glass rang through the room. Everyone turned their gaze in the direction of the noise, determining its source to be the half-empty glass of champagne held in the hand of Slughorn himself; his face hidden beneath a green and silver Jester mask.

                “Come, come everyone. Gather round, it’s time to eat; I’m sure that we’re all hungry.” He said, gesturing to a large round table which Harry hadn’t noticed before. “Take a seat. We can’t get on with the festivities without food in our bellies can we?”

                Platters and plates of food appeared on the table, then, just as they did on the four tables of the Great Hall. Tom led him over and sat down beside him, barely registering the fact that Avery and the others had claimed the other chairs immediately to their right while Slughorn took the seat to Tom’s left.

                “Tom, my dear boy, _there_ you are! I was beginning to get worried that you wouldn’t show tonight.”

                “I always show, Professor. Your parties are something I look forward to, especially when accompaniment by one's significant other is allowed.” He replied graciously as everyone filled their plates with food and their cups with drink. “Harry had a bit of trouble finding a mask is all; I helped him to acquire one.”

                “Always on the front line to help your fellow students, aren’t you?” The Professor said with a chuckle. “You and Harry have been all but inseparable since he arrived; I know that you’re not a stranger to the game of playing hearts, but I’m glad to know you may have finally settled down with someone.”

                “I’m glad to have finally found someone worthy of being my life partner.” He replied, throwing an arm carelessly over Harry’s thin shoulders and pulling him closer. Despite being somewhat uncomfortable with the stares now directed his way he remembered the need to act the part while in the eyes of the Knights of Walpurgis and melted into Tom’s side with a soft hum. “My precious raven is the perfect partner for me. Such gentleness and grace, yet capable of such stubbornness; he keeps me in line.”

                Some of the others snickered at that, as if they found the idea of anyone ‘controlling’ Tom ridiculous. Avery didn’t join them.

                “Well, we all wish you both a long and happy relationship.” Slughorn said, raising his own glass. “And now, a toast to each and every one of you. Let’s all raise our glasses, come on now! To Hogwarts’ best and brightest.”

                “To Hogwarts’ best and brightest.” They all recited, gently tapping their glasses together. Tom allowed Harry to straighten up again so that they both could eat.

                “Harry, my boy-I can call you that, can’t I?”

                “Yes, Professor.”

                “You’ll do good by Tom here, won’t you?”

                He nodded and smiled. “Of course, Sir. I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

                “Oh yes, Professor. He’ll keep him in line.” Lestrange cackled.

                “And distracted.” Nott snickered.

                “And frustrated.”

                “Sexually, perhaps.”

                “Oh, yes: the model wife he’ll be.”

                “Shut up, you Gits!” Harry snapped at them, resulting in the entire table laughing at him. Tom patted his hand gently.

                “Ignore them, Precious, and eat your food please.”

                Slughorn’s smile was so large that it didn’t quite fit his face. “I expect a wedding invitation, you two.”

                “Of course, Professor Slughorn. We wouldn’t leave our favorite Professor out of all the festivities.” Tom promised as Harry attempted to drown himself in his soup.

                After the conclusion of what was possibly the most painful dinner of his life Harry was relieved to be released from the table, of course the dark brunet wasn’t done with him yet. Where the raven would’ve preferred to get out of the spotlight and escape all of the staring-one would expect that he’d be used to it by now-the song which had begun to blare from the gramophone had apparently caught Tom’s attention enough to spur him to begin dragging him towards the middle of the room were an unofficial dance floor had been formed.

                “Tom,” there was a note of pleading to his voice as he made another failed effort to pull free of his grip, “no.”

                “Oh, come now Precious. _Sing Sing Sing_ is one of the hottest songs of the day and we agreed on the way down here that we’d take the chance to cut loose when it presented itself.”

                He’d thought that a simple waltz was next to impossible. The people dancing now looked as if their feet had been possessed by some sort of _demon!_

                “What is that?”

                “That? Why, it’s Swing darling. Get with the times.”

                “I can’t dance, Tom.” He protested yet again, in vain. One of the dancers lifted their partner from the ground and swung them up and over their shoulders in an acrobatic flip. “And I certainly can’t do _that_!”

                “We’ll stick to the basics, then.”

                “Tom-.”

                “What do you think I’m going to do, drop you?” The raven didn’t verbally respond but the look on his face made it fairly clear that that was exactly what he thought would happen. They were on the floor now, despite Harry’s best efforts. “Just mirror me.”

                It turned out to be even simpler than that; all he had to do was trip once or twice in a fortuitous place and allow Tom-who actually knew what he was doing-to throw him around as if he weighed absolutely nothing. Still, he was relieved when the song changed to something slow and Tom appeared to lose interest in dominating the dance floor. Snagging a drink for both of them from a passing waiter, he took him by the hand again and pulled him to a small balcony that he hadn’t known was there.

                “The Dungeons have balconies?”

                “Not usually, no.” Tom replied, pressing the glass into his hand. “I’m sure it was added on for the party; good for us as it’s sheltered, quiet and has an exquisite view of the Black Lake.”

                The moon and stars were hidden behind a thick layer of gray clouds and frost covered everything in a dusting of silver. The flat surface of the lake blended with the darkness of the sky.

                “A pity that the weather turned. It was supposed to be clear tonight, wasn’t it?”

                “It was.” The dark brunet removed his mask from his face and set his drink on the stone railing. “But I’m glad it isn’t. The view would be a bother, then.”

                “I don’t see how.”

                “Because it would attract more couples, and then we wouldn’t have the privacy that I took us out here for.”

                “Privacy?” Harry repeated, eyebrows rising below his mask. “Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you’re going to try something.”

                “I am.” A gentle pass of his hand snared the silver mask from Harry’s face and tossed it carelessly aside. When it returned, Tom rested his palm gently against his cheek. “I want us to have progressed further-our relationship to be more than it is now-before we leave here forever. The Dark will always hold temptation for me but the closer our bond the better I’ll be able to resist it. And considering we’re about to be entering an open war…”

                “We want it to be as strong as possible.”

                “We do.” Tom sounded uncharacteristically short of breath as he leaned in closer, scarred forehead pressing lightly against unblemished brow. “If I were to kiss you now?”

                “I’d let you.”

                The other needed no further invitation and closed the remaining distance between them. Drawing his smaller body against his own and fitting their mouths together like a fragile puzzle. Unlike the alcohol-fueled attack of opportunity which had taken place in the Room of Requirement there was no greed or lust in the action. Only soft affection and deep love as large gentle hands trailed down his back and his thin fingers found purchase against Tom’s shoulder and in his short hair.

                Both were so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed their eavesdropper as he slipped back into the party still raging inside.

                They drew apart only when the need for air became too much to bear, but even then neither let go of the other. Struggling to catch their breaths and still leaning into each other. Tom swaying slightly from side to side to the soft music filtering to them from the open doorway, taking the contented raven along with him as he did so.

                “See, Precious. Slug Club parties aren’t so bad now are they?”     

                “I’d be willing to sit through that awful dinner once more for another go at _that_.”

                Tom chuckled lightly and rested his chin atop the other’s hair. “You’ll have as many ‘goes’ as you wish, and you won’t have to sit through that dinner ever again to get them. Voldemort may be my past, but _you_ -love-are my future. And that future starts now.”

                “Our future together?”

                “Inseparably.” He promised warmly. “Come December, your world won’t know what hit it.”


	21. Scent of Blood

A low drone of voices filled the Room of Requirement, none of the gathered members of the Knights of Walpurgis brave enough to speak in a voice louder than a whisper which could have easily been misconstrued as the gentle rustle of the banners hanging overhead. Each shifted uncomfortably in their seats and took turns sending surreptitious glances at the throne-like chair standing empty at the head of the table.

Tom had never been absent from a meeting before. Had never been late, even by a moment. Was always there at least half an hour before any of them even considered arriving. Yet their leader was nowhere to be found. None of them knew what to expect. Had something happen to hold him up? Were they in some sort of trouble? Would there be punishment?

“It’s not in his nature to play a prank like this.” Abraxas’ voice was all but inaudible yet reached to the far corners of the table. “He doesn’t play games with such serious matters as our meetings.”

“You’re right, Malfoy.”

“Maybe it was Potter; payback for poking fun at him in front of everyone at the party last week?”

“Don’t be stupid, Mulciber. That’s the dumbest idea of a prank I’ve ever heard: Crab and Goyle are capable of concocting better.” Nott snapped.

“Yeah. Yeah we are.”

“Course we are.”

Lestrange and Rosier exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.

“I still feel like that scar-faced Pratt is going to come popping of the cabinet at any moment and scare the piss out of all of us.”

Another bout of silence descended over them again.

“Does anyone know where Avery is?” Lestrange finally asked.

“Not me.”

“No idea.”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He’s been acting strange.”

“So has Tom. Has anyone else noticed that?” All eyes turned to Rosier then. “Ever since Harry showed up, he’s been off. At first it was fairly typical behavior for him, just that he was after his arse a bit more than normal, but then the meeting stopped and he started acting… Odd.”

Before anyone could answer the door of the room flew open, allowing another boy to stalk into the room.

“Avery, there you are!”

“Where’s Tom?”

“Riddle isn’t coming.” He grunted, storming across the room and throwing himself into what was widely considered to be Tom’s chair. “He doesn’t even know we’re here.”

The other boys gathered around the table stared at him as if he’d just committed blasphemy in the temple of a God. Surprisingly it was Goyle who finally broke the silence. “What’s… Going on?”

“What’s going on is a shift of power, that’s what!” He snapped, narrowing his eyes at all of them. “Tom Riddle isn’t the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis anymore. I am; you answer to me now.”

Nott dissolved into laughter, earning a glare from the other. “Sorry Avery, but you’re joking aren’t you?” He snickered. “You think you can stand against Voldemort? And you expect us to stand with you? You’ve lost your mind.”

“Voldemort is dead.”

“Wha-?”

“You really _have_ lost your mind!”

“Tom was in the dorms: I saw him this morning! He’s not dead!”

“I don’t mean literally, you idiots!” Avery replied harshly. “Tom Riddle is alive, but Voldemort-the Dark Lord-is dead. His vision is dead. And so is our avenue to power.”

“Unless,” Abraxas spoke up hesitantly, “we rally around a new leader? A new Dark Lord?”

“You’re suggesting that it should be you?”

“Do any of the rest of you have the spine to martial a Coup?” When no one answered, he sneered. “Thought not.”

“But without Tom, how will we manage? He’s always been the one with the vision. The one who taught us everything. Who directed us. You expect to be able to replace him?”

“I’m not even sure we should take you at your word.” Lestrange said, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. “Sure, he may be letting his other head interfere with his thinking a little more than usual but that won’t last forever. He’ll get bored of Potter eventually, just like all the others. It’s just sex.”

“It’s not _just_ sex, that’s what all of you are failing to understand!” Avery snarled, the table rattling beneath the assailment of his fists. “It started that way, but Tom’s gotten too good at acting. He lost himself in his own charade and actually _fell in love_ with Harry Potter!”

“You have proof?”

“I overheard them on Halloween, Mulciber! Right before they started snogging! He’s given up on pursuing the ultimate power which one can find in the Darkness! He’s become infected by _Dumbledore’s_ ideology! Is going to abandon us for that glasses-wearing runt! I’m not going to be cast aside after all that I’ve been promised and anyone of you who doesn’t want to slip back into obscurity will follow me!”

The whispering around the table resumed. A low rumble of rushed words in hushed tones. And then, all at once, it went silent again.

“What are we going to do about them, Avery?”

“They plan to leave after school has let out; Hogwarts will be all but empty, then, and we’ll catch them when they don’t expect it.”

“And what are we going to do with them once we do catch them?” Crab asked excitedly from where he sat. “Torture them?”

“No, we’re not going to torture them; I swear, you’re thicker than a concussed Troll!” Avery snarled. “Torturing them isn’t enough. Not after how Tom has played us so completely. We’re going to show him we’re not as stupid or as gullible as he thinks we are; that we have learned from his lessons.”

“Which ones?”

“Yeah, which ones? There were a lot.”

“I think that ought to be fairly obvious.” The other replied sharply. “After all, we all need more practice effectively casting Avada Kedavra.”

 

“Are you going to actually eat that, or just toss it around like a miniature Quaffle?”

Tom’s arm shot out to catch the orange inches before it hit the floor of the Slytherin common room, somehow managing to avoid capsizing himself from the couch that he was lying on through the use of some otherworldly grace which Harry would never understand. Nagini, comfortably coiled up on his stomach, hissed sleepily at being suddenly disturbed.

“Why?” He asked, sending him an up-ended and perfunctory glance over the end of the couch. “Does it bother you?”

Annoyed, Harry glared at the dark brunet over the top of his Charm’s book. “Minorly.” He admitted, not sure whether the admission would lead Tom to stop or push him to continue doing it. “It’s a little bit distracting, after all, to hear the slapping sound caused by the Pratt across the room messing around with an orange when you’re trying to focus on your homework.”

“Oh, yes, I’d imagine that it would be. However, are you _certain_ that the offending sound is caused by a fruit and not something ‘fruity’?”

“I mean it, Riddle! I will throw this book at your fat head!”

“Oh, fine. But don’t blame me when you’re so easy to work up.” Tom placed the orange on the floor and sent it rolling across the room, coming to rest against Harry’s foot. “There, now I can’t be a bother anymore.”

“You’ll find another way, I’m sure.” The brunet merely hummed and began to amuse himself by tracing the diamond pattern in Nagini’s scales. “If you weren’t going to eat it, why did you take it from dinner to begin with?”

“Just something to do with my hands; I don’t do well without something to focus on. Idleness tends to bring out the more destructive facets of my personality.”

“Don’t you have homework?” Harry pushed aside the part of him which made note of the fact that he’d started to sound like Hermione.

“I finished all of it ages ago, Precious. The curse of genius.” Tom settled more comfortably against the leather couch. “I suppose I could go to the library and borrow a book but I don’t feel like walking up that many stairs.”

“Where are the others? Surely one of them could entertain you until I’m finished with this.”

“That’s even more effort. Why are you even bothering?”

That was enough to make Harry lower his quill and look up at the other boy in concern. “Tom, are you feeling okay?”

“Smashing, why?”

“Because you just suggested that I not bother with my schoolwork. Behavior which would ‘reflect poorly on my noble House’.”

“Which isn’t _really_ yours since you’re a Gryffindor.” He pointed out calmly. “Not to mention that we’ll be leaving here forever in just under four weeks. I’ve kept up with my schoolwork because such is in my nature, but-forgive me-it’s fairly obvious that ‘model student’ isn’t exactly written all over you.”

Harry chose to ignore the mild slight and went back to writing. “Because, unlike you, I’m not a genius capable of getting all O’s just by showing up. I want to be an Auror, remember; I need high marks.”

“I’m sure they’d take you with straight T’s. After all, you’re going to be the one who defeated the Dark Lord.”

“That’s relying a bit too much on fame and luck.”

“Maybe so.” Tom reluctantly allowed. “In all seriousness, once you’re finished we need to talk. About me. Or, rather, my persona for your world.”

“I’ll do my best to finish quickly, then. Stop interrupting.”

The other boy remained dutifully silent from that point on, only speaking again once Harry began to roll up his parchment.

“I’ve decided to keep my father’s name. Or, at least, his first name.” He said softly. “Thomas is a very common name. You could probably throw a rock anywhere in the Western world and hit two or three people with it. Not only that, but it allows me to fly directly in the face of my future counterpart; the whole reason I took the alias of Voldemort was because I hated the fact that I bore the name of a Muggle. As for my surname, I’ll take my mother’s: Gaunt.”

“You’re keeping Marvolo?”

“I’m nixing the middle name completely; less to keep track of.”

“Thomas Gaunt is what you’re going with?”

“Tom, preferably, but yes.” Gently lifting Nagini off of him and sitting up, he said “what story did you tell your friends before you left? Did you tell them anything at all?”

“That Dumbledore had sent me on a mission to locate someone hiding from both the Ministry of Magic and the Death Eaters because of their connection to Voldemort. And that’s practically word for word.”

“Kept things vague, didn’t you Precious?” He said. “Though it’s enough to work with; did you specify where you had to look for me?”

Harry shook his head.

“Here’s the story, then. My mother’s mother had a sister, and she was the mother of the Dark Lord. That way it’s explained how I can speak Parseltongue and why I have heirlooms of Slytherin in my possession. I was born in Little Hangleton and my mother-fearing my tyrannical relative would come after me should he learn of the birth of another male Heir to Slytherin’s line and not knowing of his fall-fled with me to Romania and raised me in a small cabin in the Hoia-Baciu Forest. I learned magic from her until she died when I was 14, at which point I continued learning from serpents and the texts that she’d left behind. This story has the added perk of providing an explanation as to why I am out of touch with the current events and trends of the time.”

He pulled a small arm pillow out from behind his back and tossed it aside.

“Your side of the story shall be that you were staying in Cluj-Napoca when you received a trail from a serpent which led you to Nagini. After gaining her trust, she took you to me.”

“You’ll want me to research the city before we leave, Tom?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Not necessary; you weren’t there long and it didn’t leave a lasting impact. All you know is that the forest was quite unsettling.” Tom said. “Now, on to the matter of needing to conceal my appearance: I’ve almost finished perfecting a modified variation of the Disillusionment Charm. It’ll be easier, not to mention have less side effects, then having to continuously take Polyjuice Potion.”

“How will it be modified?” Harry couldn’t help but be curious. Knowing Tom and his tendency to be rather flamboyant he was of half a mind to worry the results would draw more attention to him than doing nothing at all.

“Should things go as planned, only those who know what I look like- you, myself, my counterpart, Dumbledore and a handful of others who I’m sure are still alive in your time-will be able to see through it. Everyone else will find themselves unable to describe me in anything but the most general of terms; dark hair, dark eyes, that sort of thing.” He said. “And it will be so subtle that they won’t pick up on it unless it’s pointed out. On another note along the vein of my being as unrecognizable as possible,” he held up his wand, “I have a feeling that this is known to more people in your time then my real face is. I’ll need to get a backup to use as Tom Gaunt; there’s a branch of Olivander’s in Hogs-Meade and if we leave now will make it there before it closes.”

Harry got up from his position sitting on the rug in front of the fire, gathering his things as he did so. “I’ll grab the cloak and the map and will be back down in a moment.”

“I’ll be ready to leave the moment that you return.” Tom promised as Harry walked past him. Gently, he roused Nagini who had coiled back up on the cushion beside him. “ _Harry and I are going to run into Hogs-Meade in order to purchase another wand for me to assist in my disguise. We shouldn’t be gone for longer than an hour.”_

_“I shall expect you back by then, Master. Should I alert someone if you fail to return on time?”_

_“No, lovely. That won’t be necessary.”_ Hearing footsteps returning down the dormitory stairs, Tom rose from the couch and stretched his lissome form before turning to face the doorway. Moments later, Harry appeared in his field of view.

“You have money on you?”

“Of course, Precious. Though far from rich, I’m provided enough in my yearly fund to afford what I need.” He said, stepping up to him and taking his corner of the cloak. “We should be going; don’t want to have them close shop on us.”

Slipping out of the Castle and across the grounds, the pair quickly made it to the gates and into Hogs-Meade. Harry had never really paid enough attention to the branch of Olivander’s in the village to know where it was but Tom evidently did and took them both directly there. They made it to the door just as the shopkeeper-not Olivander, Harry noticed-had been about to close up.

“Students? This late on a night that isn’t a scheduled visit to Hogs-Meade?” The man seemed shocked.

“We’re sorry to bother you, Sir, but it’s a bit of a matter of importance.” Tom supplied smoothly as Harry leaned back against the door, content to allow the other to handle the situation on his own. “My boyfriend and I have a pressing quest of sorts we find ourselves forced to undergo over the course of winter break and I felt it appropriate that I procure a backup wand in the case of an accident occurring in which mine might be rendered unusable. Considering the fine workmanship of this establishment, I simply cannot patronize anywhere else. Might we request a moment of your time; it won’t take long.”

A moment passed before the wand maker sighed and beckoned him over. “Alright, but only because secondary wands are normally easier to pair. And if your Professors catch you out, I don’t want to hear that this establishment has been linked to your misbehavior.”

“Never, Sir. You have our word.” Tom promised, producing his wand and handing it over. The wand maker examined it critically for a few moments before returning and shuffling away. He returned with three boxes, which he set on the counter in front of Tom.

“One of these should be passable for you, young man.” He said, opening the first and holding it out to him. “Acacia, Unicorn Hair, 13 ¾ inches, nicely pliable.”

Harry didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when nothing explosive occurred when the other boy tested the wand.

“Try this one, then. Cyprus, Dragon Heartstring, 12 inches, unyielding.”

Again, nothing.

The wand maker produced the third wand; both Harry and Tom looked at it in surprise. Deep mocha in tone, the handle had been decorated with detailed carvings of horned snakes coiling over themselves into a shape which resembled a Celtic knot. “This is a bit of a special wand; it’s imported from a wand maker over in America known for supplying the students of Ilvermorny with reliable partners and isn’t something you’d find in our Diagon Alley location. Olivander believes cores other than Dragon Heartstring, Unicorn Hair and Phoenix Feather to be inferior, you see.” He said. “American Hornbeam, Horned Serpent Horn, 13 ½  inches, rather stiff.”

“I think that I can work with this one.” A wave of the imported wand and the Tulips in a nearby vase sprouted vicious teeth. “Yes, I think it’s perfect. How much?”

“That will be five galleons.” The man replied, quickly waving his own wand to defang the flowers as Tom handed over the money. “Now, if the two of you boys would please leave? I’m over hours already.”

“Of course, Sir. Sorry again for bothering you.” Boxed wand in hand, Tom led the way back out into the streets of the village. “It really is beautifully carved, isn’t it?” He mused, turning the box slightly so that the carvings caught the light. “And nothing like my current wand, which is absolutely perfect for our purposes.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so attracted to pretty things, Tom.”

“Of course I am. Why do you think I was attracted to you?”

He reached up and wrapped his scarf tighter around his face, half to hide his blush and half to fend off the cold. “Come on. It’s starting to snow.”

“Oh, all right. If you insist, Precious.” Pushing the lid on the box back into place and slipping it into his pocket the dark brunet fell into step beside him. Gloved hand catching his as it moved towards the cloak hidden inside his robes. “Not yet; it’s late and no one will see us anyway. Let’s just walk for a little bit. Without the cloak.”

“Want to clean the trophy room again so badly?”

“Oh, hush. We won’t get caught. Let’s enjoy ourselves a bit while we’re out.” Even after Harry relented his attempts to remove the cloak, Tom did not release his hold on him. Leading him along by the hand. “It’s always so pretty when it starts to snow. As the land just begins to transition into the colder months and everything goes to sleep.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of Winter.”

Not because of the cold, but rather because of the holidays and the reminders they held of what he’d lost. Reading the underlying message, Tom squeezed his hand gently.

“Things will be different for us now. You’ll see.”

They waited until they reached the shadows of Hogs-Meade’s gate before pulling out the cloak once more and melting into the darkness of the surrounding night.


	22. Narrow Escape

Snow had been falling on and off for the better part of December, and though the fat cottony flakes were no longer thick in the pitted iron sky the temperature was bitterly cold and the Castle’s grounds were veiled in shimmering white. The wheels of Kenny’s trunk cut furrows through it as it bounced and trundled along behind the pair, struggling valiantly against the weather in order to make their way down towards the station.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come home with me; my mother would love to have you. Always wanted to have another child.” Kenny called over the racket of wheels, the wailing of the wind, and countless raised voices. “I feel bad leaving you here over the holidays with only Riddle and the staff for company.”

“I don’t want to impose, Kenny. Really, I’ll be fine.” Harry assured the other boy, bringing his hands to his face in an effort to warm his fingers while bemoaning his failure to remember his scarf and gloves in his haste to catch them all before they left. “And Tom isn’t so bad anymore, despite what you may think. He settled down a lot.”

The redhead made a disbelieving noise and yanked his trunk out of a particularly deep rut. “I’ll believe that Tom Riddle has become a good person, or even just a bit less of an arrogant Git, on the day that Gellert Grindlewald dresses head to toe in pink and starts going door to door collecting alms for the poor.”

“For all the claims you make of hating Tom, you’re equally as cynical as he is Kenny.” Minerva noted from beside them.

“I’d prefer to call myself realistic, thank you.” He shot back. “Really, Harry. You’re certain you’d rather spend the holidays with _him_ than me?”

“Two weeks all alone with my boyfriend, who happens to be a great deal sweeter than you give him credit for, or two weeks with a friend that continually questions my relationship choices?” Giving up on attempting to warm his hands, Harry shoved them under his arms instead. “Forgive me if it’s not a competition.”

“I’ll be the first to say that I’ve never understood your taste in men, Potter.” He grumbled. “Do you, Minerva?”

“To each their own. He’s intelligent and handsome, sure, but he’s too black hearted for my taste. Most Slytherin’s are. Harry is one of the few that I can tolerate.”

He smiled. “Only because I’m really a Gryffindor at heart. According to Tom, the sword would come if I needed it.”

“A Slytherin wielding the sword of Gryffindor?” Kenny shook his head, smirking. “I had better be there on that day to see it.”

“Maybe it’ll happen at our hypothetical wedding; I could use it to fight off all the angry admirers of Tom who envy my place.” He snickered. “He’s already invited Slughorn.”

“Oh, yuck.”

“Yeah. I thought even Tom would have better taste and party guests.”

“He does. It was more of a platitude than anything.” Harry said. “He has this smarmy habit of kissing up to the faces of those he doesn’t like will internally he’s really laughing at their expense. The only person he’s outward and up front with in regards to his dislike is Dumbledore.”

“Why is that, anyway? Do you know?” He asked. “I never did understand the problem that he has with our Head of House.”

“To be completely honest with you,” he told them as they rounded a corner and walked into the doors of the station, “I don’t think even _he_ really knows.”

The great locomotive had already pulled into the station by the time that they arrived, a massive cloud of thick silver smoke belching from the chimney at its front to rise upwards into the cold sky.

“Oh, Harry.” Midian appeared on their right with Neil on his heels. “I was wondering if we would see you, what with your decision to stay in the Castle with Tom.”

“With the way that you all go on about him someone might mistakenly believe I’ve been kidnapped by a dragon.”

“You’re really that comfortable with being alone in the Slytherin dorms with him?” Neil asked, paling at the mere thought of being in his place.

“I’m not defenseless, Longbottom. Besides, I’d be better off if he were to try something while we’re alone then when we’re not considering the fact that-with the power he has over the zombie horde-he could just order the entire dorm to hold me down.”

“Well, I’ll give you that point at least.” Kenny said as the whistle blew shrilly through the station. “Come on; we need to get on the train before it leaves. Last chance, Harry: are you coming?”

“Thanks Kenny, really, but I’m fine.”

“Well then, later mate.” As the red-head began dragging his trunk up the stairs of the Hogwarts Express the raven could swear he caught him mutter “your funeral.”

Harry’s smirk quickly transformed in surprise when Minerva hugged him.

“Good luck, Harry.” She said. “If he mistreats you send an owl; once break ends he’ll not know what hit him!”

“Thank you, Minerva.” He said with a smile. “You know, you’d make a good teacher.”

She pulled back and looked at him in surprise. “Oh? Why would you say something like that?”

He shrugged. “Call it intuition.”

“Strange, the whole lot of you Slytherin’s.” Off she went up the stairs after Kenny.

Neil, who apparently had spotted something in the crowd that made him nervous, bolted up the stairs without a word.

“Goodbye, Harry.” Midian said dreamily before drifting off after him. “Do try to take advantage of that time alone. It might help you relax in certain areas to have a bit of fun.”

“Yes, Precious, a bit of ‘fun’ might help you to ‘relax’.” The reason for Neil’s rapid retreat made his presence known by drawing Harry against his chest. Long arms winding around his waist to keep him in place.

“Tom.” He said, exasperated, as he leaned into the warmth of the other’s taller form. “I didn’t think that you’d come.”

“I didn’t come to see that lot off with you, though I suppose parting shouldn’t have to be done alone.” Tom’s green and silver scarf, warm from being worn, was wrapped carefully around his neck. “Did you tell them? That you’ll never see any of them again, at least not in the incarnation that you’ve known since the start of the year?”

Harry shook his head. “No.” He said, taking advantage of their position to slide his hands into Tom’s leather gloves. Smirking at the quiet hiss that Tom made when his frozen fingers touched his skin. “I thought that it was best not to let anyone know the truth that doesn’t have to.”

“Perhaps that was wise.” Removing Harry’s hands from within his gloves he enclosed them in his own instead, allowing him to warm them without having to endure their touch himself. He lifted both to his face and blew into his clasped hands, hot breath stinging Harry’s chilled fingers. “My leaving to join your time presents enough of a risk of causing a paradox as it is.”

“If not to offer emotional support to me during my ‘tearful’ farewell, why did you come down?”

The dark brunet exhaled once more into his clasped hands before answering him. “I don’t like the way that my Knights have been acting recently. I came to make sure that they really had gotten on the Express. Left for the holiday.” The whistle blew again, more shrill then the first, and the train began to move. Chugging low and dull as it advanced, beginning to pick up speed. “Call it paranoia.”

“They have been acting strange.” Harry agreed as they watch the Hogwarts Express-now moving at an impressive clip-pull completely out of the station. “I’ve never been a careful person, but I suppose there’s nothing wrong with a healthy sense of caution.”

The two boys stood on the platform, staring after the steam engine, until its shape had completely vanished into the distance. Tom released him and stepped away, holding out his gloved hand.

“Well, I suppose the two of us had better pack our things.”

“I suppose we should.” Harry buried the hand that wasn’t enveloped in Tom’s in his pocket and the two boys made their way off of the platform and back into the snow outside.

“Want to tell me why you left your scarf and gloves in the dorm, Precious? It must be below zero out here, with the wind.”

“I meant to grab them, but I was in too much of a rush.” He said as Tom used his free hand to stand the collar of his coat up and block some of the wind. “You didn’t need to give me yours.”

“I’m a winter baby; this sort of weather isn’t a big deal for me. You, being a summer, are more likely to get sick.”

“That’s an old wives tale and we both know it.”

“Say that again when you’re running a fever and dripping snot.”

Harry rolled his eyes as they started the hike back up the hill towards the Castle. “And what would you do while I was sick? Head for the hills on the off chance I was contagious?”

“I’d be seeing to you, of course. Is not the vow ‘in sickness _and_ in health’?”

“We’re not married, remember.”

“Not yet. But everyone seems to have spontaneously become a Seer on the matter of our nuptials so we may as well get on board with the fad, don’t you think?”

“We’re heading into a war, Tom. That’s the last thing we should be thinking about.”

“Why?”

“Considering you’ve spent your recent summers in war-torn Europe I figured you wouldn’t need to ask that.”

“Neither of us are going to die. I won’t allow it.”

The raven sighed. “Nice to see your overconfidence hasn’t faded, at least.” The other boy just smirked at him in response. “Maybe after the war. Once we’re both of age and don’t have to worry about a snake-faced Git popping out of the bushes to kill us at any moment.”

“Fair enough.” Tom allowed as they took the front steps of the Castle two at a time. “I can wait.”

Patience wasn’t exactly something that Tom Riddle, in any of his incarnations, was known for possessing in excess but something told him this time would be different. Perhaps because he’d taken it almost as a personal challenge. As they skirted the base of the massive Evergreen set up at the base of the grand staircase which a number of teachers were engrossed in decorating Harry couldn’t help but wonder when the next mention of them as a bonded couple would crop up again.

“So, Christmas is in two days.”

Tom nodded. “It is. And I hope that you got me something, because otherwise it’s going to be awkward.”

“If that was your attempt to get me to tell you what your present is, Riddle, you’ll have to do better.”

The dark brunet’s laughter accompanied them up to the owlry.

“Yes, I suppose that I would if that was the point of that line of questioning.” He said, following him up the curling staircase. “But it wasn’t. I wanted to give you a last-minute chance to spare some dignity in front of your friends is all.”

“And why would I need to ‘spare my dignity’ in front of anyone?” Harry asked, coaxing Hedwig down onto his arm. The owl turned her head to affix Tom in an amber stare and hooted quietly. “Were you planning on embarrassing me?”

“Not purposefully, Love. You know better than that.”

“Then what?”

“It never looks good when one half of the relationship gives the other something and the other does not reciprocate.” Tom replied calmly, following them back down the stairs. “Wouldn’t want your friends to develop a bad opinion of you, now would we?”

“It would take a bit more than that for them to develop a bad opinion of me.” He teased. “I _am_ a hero after all.”

“I suppose it would.” He snickered back, reaching hesitantly towards the Raptor and half expecting her to bite him. When she didn’t, he gently stroked her white feathers and earned another hoot.

“She likes you.”

Tom smiled. “She has good taste. Just like her Master.” Harry rolled his eyes as they walked into the common room and up the dormitory stairs. “Tell me about your friends. About your teachers. About Hogwarts in your time. Anything. Everything. Just to pass the time while we pack.”

“You really want to hear pointless stories?” He asked, apologizing softly to Hedwig as he shuffled her off his arm and into her brass cage.

“Imagine what the world would be if couples never told each other pointless stories.” Tom opened his trunk and began running through a mental checklist of his belongings. “I want to hear the times when you were happy. I want to hear about your friends. About the times where, despite encountering something frightening or being the target of a bully, you weren’t in mortal danger. I’d like to know that you at least had normal facets to your childhood and that I didn’t take everything from you.”

“How many times do I have to say it before it’s clear to you, Tom? _You_ haven’t taken anything from me.”

“To humor me, then.”

 “Well, I suppose there are a few stories that I could tell you.” Setting Hedwig’s cage gently on the floor beside his trunk, he began a sloppy effort of digging through it in search of his map and cloak. “My two closest friends, Ron and Hermoine, well… I figured I should probably forewarn you that Ron is a Weasley and Hermoine is a Muggleborn. And I don’t want to hear a word from you about it.” This last part was accompanied by rather threatening glare.

“I will conduct myself with the civility which would be expected of one properly cultured. I promise.” Tom assured him. “Is that really all you’re bringing?”

“It’s all I brought with me to begin with.” He replied. “None of the rest of it is really mine. Why did you think I was so shocked to have the trunk show up?”

“Fair point, once again.”

“Well, Ron was the first person to sit with me on the train; at the time “Scabbars”-that bastard Pettigrew-was his rat. His older twin brothers, Fred and George, convinced him that they’d taught him the color changing spell.”

“Colovaria?”

Harry shook his head. “Sunshine, Daisies, Butter Mellow, Turn This Stupid Fat Rat Yellow. Needless to say, it didn’t work.”

Tom tried and failed to smother his laughter.

“So, that was how I met Ron and basically became his adopted pseudo-brother. How we became friends with Hermoine was a bit more dangerous.”

“Did you have to kill another Basilisk?”

“No. But I did have to knock out a Mountain Troll.”

“Mountain Troll?”

“In the girl’s bathroom.”

“How the devil-?”

“Voldemort.”

“… Inventive, I suppose.”

“He _is_ rather unpredictable. A side effect of insanity.” It was starting to darken outside of the windows as the sun began to go down. “On to the subject of a school bully, there is one in my time. A Slytherin, of course. Draco Malfoy.”

“Abraxas’ descendent?”

Harry nodded. “In our first year he wound up getting us landed in detention; Hagrid took us into the Forbidden Forest in order to figure out who or what was killing Unicorns. Again, it was Voldemort; he was drinking their blood so that he could continued to exist is a parasite on the back of our then Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s head. He would’ve killed us, had we not been saved by a centaur named Firenze-now one of our Divination teachers-who showed up at just the right moment and chased him off.”

“Centaur? I was drinking…? _Hagrid_?”

“I know what you did to get him expelled-the diary showed me-but he’s not as bad as you believe. He saved me from the Dursley’s, as you know, and I consider him a friend. He’s our current Care of Magical Creatures teacher and, as for what you said about monsters not making good pets-.”

“The Basilisk was bewitched answer to me, wholly and completely. I could and can still control her which is more than he could say about that bloody spider; have you any idea how dangerous Acromantula are?” He asked. “’Aragogg’ may not have killed that girl, but it was only a matter of time before it did kill someone.”

He couldn’t exactly disagree with him and claim the giant spider wasn’t dangerous. “I’ll give you that one. Having met him… Not the most hospitable, but happy to have Ron and I for dinner.”

Before Tom could respond to that statement Nagini slithered into the room at a speed which Harry had never seen her move before. “ _Master!!!”_

The attention of both boys snapped onto her immediately. “ _Nagini, what’s going on?”_

_“Avery and the others did not really get on the train! They hid in the station until you left and they’re headed here now: they were talking about target practice with the Killing Curse!”_

A beat of dead silence was followed by a rush of movement from Tom. “Get your cloak! Now! He pointed his wand at his trunk and shrunk it, stuffing it into his pocket and grabbing Nagini; draping her over his shoulders. They both ducked beneath the cloak and retreated into the corner just as the door to the dorm room swung open with a loud bang to allow the Knights of Walpurgis inside.

Avery’s glittering eyes swept across the room, landing on Harry’s still open trunk.

“Riddle’s things have vanished but Potter’s are still here.” He grunted, turning to the others; Mulciber, Malfoy, Goyle, Nott, Lestrange and Rosier. “They haven’t left yet. We’ll wait for the two of them to come back, and surprise them when they do.”

“Right.”

“Where’s Crab?” Harry spoke barely loud enough for Tom to hear him and felt the other shrug.

“I don’t know, but that’s hardly our concern.” He replied, equally as softly. “We need to get out of here. Now. We’ll head to Dippet’s office and hide in there until the ring activates.”

“Good idea.”

Cautiously, mindful not to bump into any of the furniture, any of the other boys who were now milling around or to rattle Hedwig’s cage against their legs the pair began making their way towards the dormitory’s doors.

Neither saw Crab until it was too late.

The other boy plowed into them at a full run, knocking them both to the ground and displacing the cloak. Hedwig’s cage burst open; the owl took flight with a shriek and Nagini hissed angrily and lashed out at him, her fangs falling just short of making contact. Avery and the others were on their feet, wands drawn and being raised. Shouting and moving in on them.

Tom’s fingers bit into Harry’s wrist as he hauled him back upright.

“Stupefy!” A scarlet lance sent Crab crashing down the stairs ahead of them and they leapt over his fallen form, hitting the common room floor running. Spells flew past their heads, some completely off course but others heart-stoppingly close to making contact, exploding against the walls and setting fire to surrounding furniture.

“ _After them!”_

Tom and Harry bolted around the corner and up the dungeon stairs, nearly slipping backwards when some of them vanished underfoot. Disintegrating underneath them. A window to Tom’s right exploded, pelting them both with shards of glass. Both flung their own spells over their shoulders at intervals without slowing down.

“ _Ginger beer!”_ Harry shouted at the gargoyle barring the way. Unlike before, it didn’t move. “They’ve change the password, Tom! Start guessing!”

“No time! _Reducto!”_ The statue burst into a cloud of ashes and they plowed through it. _“Reparo!”_

The door at the top of the stairs gave beneath the impact of Tom’s shoulder; he practically threw Harry into the room ahead of him before slamming it closed and casting every warding spell that he could think of through the press of panic.

“ _Activate the bloody thing! We need to get out of here!”_

“I’m trying!” Hedwig had settled on her Master’s shoulder now that their flight had come to an end. Harry was halfway bent over the ring on his hand, turning it three times then pausing. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. “It’s not activated yet, Tom!”

A loud cacophony of noises echoed through the room as fists and spells assailed the door. Tom backed away from the door and raised his wand, Nagini poised and snarling. “Keep trying!”

“ _Break that bloody door down!”_

 _“I’m trying!”_ The wood shook violently beneath the blow of what may have been a foot. Or, perhaps, an entire body. “ _It’s warded!_

_“Get out of the way!”_

_“ **Harry, hurry!”**_

_“Master, they’re going to get in!”_

_“I know, Nagini. Will fight them when they do.”_

Another loud bang and, this time, the door buckled. A flash of blinding green came rocketing towards them through the resultant cloud of dust. Reacting on instinct Tom whirled around, pulling the raven roughly into his arms, and yanked him to the floor just as the office around them warped and upended and everything went white.


	23. Back To The Future

Fawkes slept silently atop his perch, head tucked gracefully beneath one large bright red wing. The numerous silver spindly objects scattered throughout the room whirred and clinked and emitted little puffs of colored smoke. Sleet pattered against the darkened windows, wind rattling the glass in its panes. Dumbledore reclined serenely behind his desk, calmly waiting, though for precisely what his three visitors were not entirely sure.

All that the three Aurors-all members of the Order of the Phoenix and sworn to secrecy on the matter-knew was that, in accordance to the Headmaster’s plan to defeat Voldemort once and for all, Harry had been sent into an alternate timeline in order to bring another version of Voldemort into the equation in hopes of playing them against each other. Needless to say, there had been mixed reactions. ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody had been horrified by the prospect and had quickly proclaimed his old friend to be madder than he was. Tonks had had no objections; she would not be considering this second Dark Lord a friend anytime soon, but if their leader believed such measures to be necessary then she doubted that irrevocable harm could come of it. Kingsley didn’t know quite what to think on the matter. Like ‘Mad-Eye’, he had serious reservations regarding the thought of doubling the enemy they could barely handle one of but like Tonks he also trusted Dumbledore’s judgment enough to know there must be more to the matter than the aged wizard was willing to tell them.

“It’s nearly midnight, Albus. I think it’s fair to say at this point that the boy failed to achieve success in the ridiculous pursuit you sent him on.” The grizzled Auror growled. “We’ve kept Molly waiting for more visitors long enough.”

“They could still show, ‘Mad-Eye’.” Tonks protested. “The ring’s not exact on time; for all we know it could still be the middle of the day in the timeline where Harry is.”

“Unregistered time traversal devices. Alternate timelines. That’s another matter entirely, never mind the fact that your whole reasoning for sending Potter into the unknown was the manifestation of your own misplaced guilt over not subjecting the Dark Lord to enough sessions of ‘love therapy’ while he was a schoolboy. _You’ve lost your mind, Dumbledore!_ ”

“’Mad-Eye’-.” This time it was Kingsley who spoke as the other man clumped forwards on his gnarled walking stick.

“Where I would not agree that Harry has entirely failed in his efforts, perhaps you are correct in suggesting that he will not be returning to our time-alone or otherwise-quite yet. Fawkes,” the Phoenix raised his head and regarded his human companion with intelligent black eyes, “if you would-.”

In a bright flash of white light a pair of figures appeared in the office, promptly toppling over with a hoarse yelp and a loud crash and taking the candy dish with them. Hedwig hooted loudly and took flight across the room, settling lightly in the middle of the Headmaster’s desk and turning her head to glare indignantly at her Master, though it was impossible to discern who was who amidst the tangle of limbs and black and emerald robes. Never mind the sprinkling of gummy Dark Marks which had scattered everywhere upon the upending of the candy dish. An affronted sounding hiss emitted from the collapsed pair as a massive serpent uncoiled itself and the dark brunette raised his head to peer cautiously at the room which they had landed in. Catching sight of the candies almost immediately, he rolled his eyes with a sound of marked distaste.

“You’re joking.”

“Good evening, Tom.” Dumbledore smiled serenely through the baleful look that the young man was sending him. “I don’t particularly enjoy them myself-I’m not a fan of things flavored with sour apple-but I figured you might appreciate the gesture. Of course, I hadn’t expected the two of you to take out my candy dish on your way in.”

“No, I most certainly do _not_ appreciate-. _Ouch_!” Tom’s attention shifted on to Harry, who had sat up as well now that the dark brunette had released his hold on him. Eyes focusing in on the sizable bloodied chunk of glass in his hand. “Precious?”

“Did you not notice this was in your shoulder, Tom?”

“Was it?” He turned to glare at his arm, briefly looking over the bleeding gash before gently removing the glass from his raven’s custody. “So it was. Must be from the window that Mulciber blew out while they were chasing us.” Tom dropped it to the floor amidst the scattered candies. “Another shaved second and you and I would both be dead. That bloody ring’s timing is terribly close.”

“Well, I’ll agree with you on that much.”

“You’re alright?”

“You’re the one who’s bleeding, Riddle.”

“Fair point. Nagini?”

The serpent hissed what must have been an affirmative as Harry got to his feet and crossed the office to the desk. “Here, Sir.” He said, removing the silver ring from his hand and setting it on top of the desk. “I don’t think we’ll be needing it anymore.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Dumbledore replace the ring in the top drawer of his desk. “How did it go?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Tom grumbled. Still kneeling on the floor, he’d restored his trunk to its proper size and was now rummaging through it.

“Yes, Mr. Riddle. You are.” The Headmaster said with a nod. “On the matter of your sensitive presence-.”

“I already went over everything with Harry; will be going by my mother’s surname-Gaunt-rather than my father’s, have concocted a back story, designed a subtle disguise-the best kind, if you ask me-and have even gone so far as to acquire for myself a replacement wand. Ah, here it is.”

He resurfaced holding the box in one hand. After quickly casting what Harry assumed to be his modified Disillusionment Charm over himself, he switched out the Yew wand for the Hornbeam backup and set the box back in his trunk. He moved to do the same with his school robes, but thought better of it at the last moment and instead set them alight. Watching them rapidly turned to ashes on the office floor.

“Wouldn’t do for anyone to find those, considering I’m supposed to be the ‘transfer student’.” Returning the trunk to its shrunken state and replacing it in his pocket, Tom stood up. “What next?”

“Just how much has Harry told you, Tom?”

“Enough to understand.” He said. “I assume these three are members of your ‘Order’?”

The Headmaster nodded. “Aurors as well.”

“Because a 16-year-old schoolboy requires an escort three times the size of what most inmates sentenced to life in Azkaban do.”

“71, 16 or 5 we can’t afford to take a risk with the Dark Lord. One thing that every Dark Wizard has in common is that they like to play games, to prey on the innocent and naïve. You surely didn’t expect we were all dumb enough to believe Voldemort would ever be a good person!”

Tom narrowed his eyes at Moody, not in the least unnerved by the formidable Auror or his electric blue enchanted eye. “Expecting me to ever become a ‘good person’ transcends the bounds of mere idiocy. I will never be a ‘good person’. And I do not want to ever become a ‘good person’ because a ‘good person’-a truly good person-is a disgusting, blithering fool who wears their heart on their sleeve and hasn’t the slightest in the way of brains; their heads are filled with sawdust and that’s if they’re lucky. They’re the type who believe that evil has horns and fangs and will entirely overlook the dark-haired boy with the Angel’s face who would take them for everything they have-their life included-should he be given half the chance!” Tom plucked at the cuff of his sleeve until it was free of wrinkles. “No. I won’t ever bother making the effort to become a ‘good person’ as I’ve not the time for worthless endeavors. I am, however, fully determined to become a _better_ person than my counterpart. Any other thoughts on the matter, Auror?”

Moody growled at him but didn’t speak. Tom smirked and picked Nagini up off the floor.

“Also, don’t call me Voldemort. I came up with that ridiculous anagram when I was a 12-year-old attention seeking brat and have since grown out of it.”

“The anagram or the attention seeking?” Harry snickered at him when Tom rolled his eyes.

“Oh hush, you.”

“Well to answer your question of what will happen next, the two of you are going to be escorted to the Burrow to spend the Holidays there. You’ll begin assisting our endeavors with the war effort once the new semester begins.”

“I look forward to the hunt.” The serpent in his arms gave a hiss of agreement. “By the looks of it, it’s rather late. Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Is that all, Dumbledore?” Kingsley asked.

“Yes.” He said, gaze falling on the two boys. “Behave, both of you. You’re not to leave the Burrow over the Holidays.”

“Of course, Professor. I always follow the rules set before me by my wiser elders.”

“We both know, Thomas, that that is a lie. You do not follow the rules, you’re simply careful enough about breaking them that most tend not to notice.”

Rather than making an attempt to argue, Tom relented with a shrug and started down the stairs.

“Get back here, boy! I’m not about to let you out of my sight!”

Harry watched Moody hurriedly pursue Tom out of the room with mixed feelings of amusement and exasperation. He should’ve known that the other boy would take every chance presented to be as antagonistic as possible towards those he’d deemed to be ‘Dumbledore’s goons’.

“So,” Tonks asked brightly as she came up behind him, “you and ‘don’t call me Voldemort’?”

“We’re friends.”

“And that’s why he calls you ‘Precious’, is it?”

Harry could feel his face beginning to heat up. “It wasn’t exactly my intention…it just happened.”

“Watch yourself around him.” Kingsley warned. “Even in his younger years, Voldemort was known to be an impeccable actor.”

“He isn’t acting. He was, originally, but not anymore.” He turned his attention to collecting Hedwig from the desk in order to hide the flush of pink now painted across his pale cheeks. “You can tell a lot about a person from their Boggart, and his has changed.”

He caught the Headmaster’s knowing smile only briefly as he picked up his owl and made for the door himself.

Tom was halfway through coaxing Nagini into hiding under his shirt to protect herself from the cold when the three of them dismounted the office stairs.

“If anything, it seems to be even colder now than it was 50 years ago.” He said, a note of disapproval coloring his tone. “And they say that climate change is a myth. You left your gloves, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t have time to grab them.”

“Pants! You had plenty of time to grab them, your scarf as well for that matter, during your little ‘all I brought with me was the map and the cloak’ speech.” He pulled his own gloves off and tossed them at him. “Put them on; I don’t want to hear any of it! What did you do before me?”

“I don’t know. Probably had the audacity to go outside without gloves on.” Harry said, pulling them over his hands.

“Uck! You really are a Gryffindor, aren’t you!” He snorted, falling into step beside him as he began making their way through the halls. “You know I would say that were Salazar Slytherin still alive he’d throttle me, but the simple fact of matters is he’d already have died of a heart attack at the realization my mother would’ve had to have had sex with a Muggle to make me in the first place.”

He shook his head. “Awful, awful man my father. Absolutely odious. A rich Pratt who never had to work a day in his life, you know the type. And you know something? I could have been the ‘normal’ Muggle child of the ‘normal’ Muggle woman that he was actually into and he _still_ wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me. Because having a child means that you have to grow up, and heaven forbid he not be the Prince anymore.”

Nagini whined in discomfort when the front door swung open and they stepped out into the cold night.

“I often wonder where it was that I got my intelligence from. Certainly not from my father-rich as he was he couldn’t be bothered to buy himself a bloody brain-and definitely not from my mother. Not only because she used a love potion on him, but because she stopped using it expecting that he’d stay. Love potions don’t work that way. And then there was my Uncle; Merlin’s beard! So inbred he more closely resembled some manner of Troll than a human.”

The bitterness with which Tom spoke made the surrounding temperature drop even more. He looked over at Harry and, when next he spoke, it was in Parseltongue.

“ _Should we ever have a family, I will be a much better father than mine ever could’ve been.”_

“I draw the line at indecipherable communications!” Moody snapped. Both Tonks and Kingsley looked unnerved by the display.

“Seems he doesn’t trust you to out me were I to be saying something naughty, Harry. He’s more paranoid than _I_ am.”

“Hurry up, all of you. The sooner we can get the two of them to the Burrow the better. The last thing we need now are further complications.” He limped ahead of them through the gates of Hogwarts and out of the apparition shields. The raven and the dark brunet exchanged a brief glance before following. “Grab hold of the nearest person to you. Quickly now.”

“I know how to apparate.” Tom grumbled under his breath, catching Harry by the arm as he caught hold of Tonks.

A swift pivot, a brief compression and a loud crack later they found themselves standing out front of the Burrow. Reluctantly, Tom released his hold on him and stepped away.

“Inside. Both of you. Immediately.” Moody barked at them. As the two boys moved past him he caught Tom roughly by the arm. “And don’t think you’re not under watch. You may not look like the Dark Lord we’re familiar with, and Dumbledore may be speaking for you for a reason I’ll never understand, but some of us are more than well aware of what you really are.”

“Respectfully noted.” He pulled himself free and continued after Harry, catching up with him at the door.

“You alright?”

“Fine. I expected that they wouldn’t trust me. It doesn’t matter to me anyway.”

From the look on the other’s face it was rather clear that their current topic of conversation had come to an end. As Tom’s eyes roved over the contours of the almost dangerously lopsided building and the scattering of old Wellington boots and rusted out cauldrons-one of which had become the unofficial nest of a sleeping white chicken-Harry raised his hand to knock on the door. To his surprise the voice which greeted them did not belong to any of the Weasley’s.

“What creature was caged in the corner the first time Harry Potter came to my office?”

He faltered slightly at the unexpected question, but after brief thought was able to answer it correctly. “A Grendillow.”

The sound of a lock coming undone reached them a moment before the door swung open, revealing a slightly disheveled and prematurely graying man whom Harry recognized instantly.

“Professor Lupin!”

“Hello, Harry.” Lupin accepted the brief embrace of his friend and former student before turning a wary gaze on Tom. “This is him? Voldemort?”

Tom twitched under the scrutiny. “I’d like to respectfully request that you please not call me that, Sir.”

“Sir?” He seemed surprised.

“Of course. Your Harry’s favorite Professor; you deserve the proper respect. You should be proud of him; not only for achieving a corporeal Patronus at so young an age but for being able to teach others to do so as well. Even those that most would consider too far gone to be worth the effort.”

“He taught you to cast a Patronus?”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite call it that; it’s so diminutive that a Dementor would see it and die of laughter-it’s only there if you squint and hop on one foot-but it’s more than I could speak for being able to do alone.” In a hesitant motion which belied the absolute confidence Harry had come to associate with him, he extended his hand forward as though expecting the door to be slammed in his face. “Tom.”

“Remus.” Lupin took the offered hand and they shook. “Good to meet you as a friend of Harry’s.”

“Yes,” he looked at the raven beside him as if wanting to say more but not quite knowing if he should, “a friend of Harry’s.”

“You should both come in; it’s freezing and Molly will have my hide if either of you are allowed to get sick.” He stepped aside to let them in; Tom followed on Harry’s heels as he stepped over the threshold of the doorway. Lupin shut the door behind them. “Molly’s in the kitchen; she and I were waiting up for you. Arthur is still at work and won’t be getting back until tomorrow.”

The pair trailed him down the hallway and into the kitchen. The small cluttered space was just as warm and well-lit as Harry remembered from his numerous visits and filled with the smell of Ron’s mother’s incredible cooking. He barely had the chance to fully enter the room before he was pulled into a quick but bone crushing embrace.

“Oh, Harry! We’d begun to worry you wouldn’t be coming back in time for the holidays! It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley.” He said as Ron’s mother looked him over critically before releasing him again. Once she had, he gestured to Tom. “This is Tom Riddle.”

“It’s good to finally get to meet you, Mrs. Weasley. Harry tells me that you’re family to him.” As he had with Lupin, Tom held out a hand to her politely only to let out a yelp of shock when she pulled him into an embrace as well. Upon hearing his hiss of pain she stepped back and examined him, catching sight of the rip in his sleeve and the gash in his arm almost immediately.

“You’re injured, dear.”

“Oh, um, yes. That… My ‘friends’ weren’t very happy when they realized we were leaving. I got a bit of glass in my shoulder as a parting gift. I didn’t get around to dealing with it before we left the Castle to head here.”

“Well, I’ll fix you right up. Just give me a moment.”

“Oh, no; that’s not necessary. I can-.”

“No, no. You’re underage and we’ve no way of knowing whether the trace is still on you or not. No one really knows anything about cross timeline travel, even Dumbledore and he came up with the theory of it, and we can’t afford to have the Ministry finding out about you.” Mrs. Weasley rushed across the room and began searching a small shelf for something. “Both you boys sit down, I’m sure you must be starving! I’ll have your arm as good as new in just a moment, as soon as I figure out where I put that book.”

“Come on, Tom.” Harry tugged the other boy over to the kitchen table and they both sat down across from Lupin. The dark brunet followed after him without resistance, a look of bewilderment still plastered on his face.

 “Am I… being mothered?” He asked the other shakily as Nagini slithered out of his shirt and onto the tabletop.

“Yeah,” Harry replied with an amused grin. “You are.”

“ _The den mother squeezes like a python.”_ Nagini hissed as she coiled herself up between them. “ _It would seem that we have, to a point, been accepted by them.”_

“Remus,” Lupin removed his cautious eyes from Nagini to look over at Harry again, “last I heard you were undercover in the werewolf packs trying to sway them from joining Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

He nodded. “I was.”

“How is that going?”

“Not well.” Lupin sighed. “Where most of the werewolves I’ve met hold no particular sympathy towards Voldemort, all of the legislation that the Ministry has passed in recent years has alienated them from the current power structure entirely. Many are taken by the possibility of achieving the higher place in society that he offers. The rest are so intimidated by Fenrir Grayback that they don’t want to listen to me.”

“You’re a werewolf?” His attention returned to Tom, who was now examining him a good bit more closely. “I’m surprised. You don’t look like what one would expect.”

“Your opinion of me has changed, now?”

Tom shook his head. “Not at all. At least, not in the way that you’d expect. I’ve a greater respect for you now, knowing that.” Seeing the wary surprise which flitted across the other’s face he smiled. “From your appearance alone-not a dirty rabid cur easily misconstrueable as a dog but a rather well put together man, all things considered-I can tell that you have the astounding strength of discipline necessary to resist giving in to your own nature.” He broke his gaze and looked away. “Something I can’t say. I had to have someone with a bit too much of a heart for his own good come around and deliver a well-deserved kick in the arse before I could pull my head out of what I was doing and look at what I’d become.”

A loaf of fresh bread and two bowls of hearty stew were set lightly before them, along with a book which Harry recognized as the one Ms. Weasley had used while attempting to remove the black eye Hermoine had suffered at the hands of Fred and George’s punching telescope over the summer. She flipped through it quickly and, after locating the correct page, sealed the gash in Tom’s arm with a flick of her wand. Repairing the tear in his sleeve with another.

“There you go, dear. Good as new.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Now, both of you should eat quickly and head to bed. There’s a spare room in the attic, but I’m afraid that with the lack of space the two of you are going to have to share a bed.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He jumped slightly when Harry stepped on his foot. “Oh, stop it Precious: don’t be coy. It would look far worse if we attempt to hide it, not that the act would survive long; my gift is worth a fair bit more than what one typically drops into the lap of a mere friend.”

“You’re a couple?” Lupin looked rather alarmed. This was not the way that Harry had envisioned the revelation going and rather hoped that the floor beside his chair would open up and swallow him.

“What did you expect Dumbledore intended to take place; there was no other way I’d allow myself to be turned from my path and he knew it. Needless to say, your weird eyed Auror friend was _resoundingly_ displeased.” Tom let out a delighted cackle. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy playing with him.”

“Antagonizing Order members is not going to win you any points with me, Riddle.” Harry warned around a slice of bread.

“I know it won’t, but reciprocating what’s thrown at me is hardly antagonizing. You know how I operate: tit for tat.” The raven chose to focus on his meal rather than replying. “I’m sure that you’re rather interested in knowing how it is that we became involved with each other romantically? If only to be sure your friend and former student isn’t in over his head in hot water?”

“To say the least.”

“It would have been hard _not_ to notice him the moment that he arrived, in all honesty. There is no one quite like Harry James Potter after all.” He looked over at the other boy, then, and had the raven not been stubbornly focused on his food he might’ve noticed the wistful glimmer in his eyes. “We were connected-similar magical signatures, similar stubborn steadfastness, wands with brother cores, it was undeniable-but it wasn’t until later that I realized why. That, as a result of the actions of my future self, we were irrevocably and entirely bound together in a manner which neither of us could escape.” Tom shook his head. “I thought love was worthless. Getting beat upside the head with it repeatedly has taught me better. As for my counterpart… Once I’m through ‘Voldemort’ will wish that he was never born.”

“I think that’s quite enough for one night; the two of you can finish your conversation later on today.” Mrs. Weasley said as she picked up their empty bowls. “Bed, both of you. I’m sure you’re both exhausted: just keep climbing until you can’t go up anymore.”

“Of course.” Tom said graciously, inclining his head in her direction as he rose fluidly from his seat. Offering a hand to help Harry up beside him while using the other to lift Nagini from the table. “Until next time, Remus.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry said quickly before looking over at his favorite ex-Professor. “Good night, Remus.”

“Good night, Harry.”

The pair exited the kitchen together and set out up the stairs. Nagini had fallen asleep on Tom’s shoulders. Through the shadows Harry could see that an odd look had settled across his features. A brief touch to the other boy’s arm attracted the dark brunet’s attention. Tom looked down at him in a silent question.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked as they reached the second landing, careful to keep his voice down. Mindful of the sounds of quiet breathing which were emanating from behind the nearest door. “You look like you’re really thinking hard about something.”

“I suppose that’s because I am.” He replied in an equally low voice. “I’m not used to this, Harry. To being welcomed into someone’s home without having to jump through hoops and toe around stiff-lipped tradition. I’ve never known what it felt like before. To have a mother.”

“I know what you’re going through; my relatives locked me in a cupboard under the stairs for most of my life so I didn’t get much in the way of affection until I found my way here.” They started up the stairs again. “The Weasley’s are good people.”

“They would have to be, to treat me as they have despite knowing what I became.”

“Driving you away by demonizing actions you haven’t yet taken wouldn’t solve that.” They came to the top of the staircase, then, and Harry pushed open the door which barred their path. “Most people don’t operate from a place of malice, at least most people outside of Snake House. It’s human nature to want to be cared for, and to reciprocate with your own warmth. I know it’s not the world that you’re used to operating in but I also know that you’re a very adaptable person, Tom. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’ll repay them.”

“Tom-.”

“At least in the spirit of being a cordial guest.” He delved into his resize trunk in search of night clothes while Harry made his way over to his own, situated in the corner of the room. “I owe them that much.”

“Just because someone extends a kindness to you doesn’t mean you have to be indebted to them.” He said, storing his belongings, but the other boy didn’t miss the raven’s pleased smile.

“Just because I’m not indebted to someone doesn’t mean that I can’t be nice.”

“You’ve changed, Tom.”

“No, I haven’t.” Now barefooted and in night clothes, the dark brunet padded across the exposed wooden floor towards the bed. “I told you before that no one does anything without an ulterior motive to their actions.”

“And what’s yours?” Harry asked, joining Tom and slipping beneath the sheets. “Can I ask that?”

“You can’t figure it out for yourself?”

“It’s too early for that.”

Tom chuckled and laid back, pulling the smaller raven’s body against his and purring in satisfaction when Harry nestled closer instead of trying to pull away. “It’s very simple, really. They are your friends. Being civil with them will only earn me points with you. The more points I have with you the further along our relationship will be. The further along our relationship is, well… I’ll let you fill in that blank on your own. Use your imagination.”

                “Of course you will.” He grumbled.

                The dark brunet smiled and held him close. “Good night, my love.”

                “Good night.”

They may have entered into a simmering war, but in that moment neither of the two boys could bring themselves to feel anything but safe in each other’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unfortunately will not be able to post tomorrow as not only did this chapter take much longer than expected to turn out but I'll be traveling back home from college. Updates will resume as normal on Wednesday.


	24. Test of Persona

“Wake up, little brother. You need to see this.”

Ron Weasley had never been someone who enjoyed waking up early, especially after a late night spent awake, and his older twin brothers knew this. He could only assume that it was for that exact reason that Fred and George had decided to come gallivanting into his room long before anyone-aside from maybe Hermoine-had any right to be awake outside of during school. He had the creeping suspicion that was precisely why the twins had done it.

First Harry had to continue his mysterious mission on over through the holidays, and then out of all the potential outlets for their typical roguish behavior available at all hours what with the Burrow having become the impromptu headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix they had to target him; he almost wished that they’d stayed at the flat over their joke shop.

“Go away. Too early.” Ron buried himself back under his sheets. He’d never been very eloquent just after waking up.

“No way. You need to see this.” Fred said.

“Yeah. There’s no way you’ll believe it otherwise.” George seconded.

And they both said together “don’t make us pull you out of bed, Ron.”

The worst part was he knew that they would. Faced with a choice between leaving his bed on his own terms and being dumped unceremoniously out onto the floor, a still very reluctant Ron slowly crawled free and stood up.

“If this is another one of your pranks, so help me. You already went after me last night with the Electric Shock Shake.”

“So help me, he says.” One of the twins cackled, looking delightedly over at the other. “Is this a prank, George?”

“Course not, Fred.”

“See, not a prank dear little brother.”

“Not on you, at least.”

The pair looked at each other and said “We’re going to welcome him back to Britain in typical Weasley Twin fashion, knowing that a discerning individual like him will be able to appreciate it.”

“Harry’s back?” Ron perked up, suddenly feeling much more awake.

“Harry’s back.”

“And he isn’t alone.”

“There are definitely two people curled up in that bed.”

“Though where one ends and the other starts is a question we can’t answer; they’re definitely too tangled up to be just friends wouldn’t you say, Fred?”

“Oh, yes. Most definitely, George.”

“So, little brother,” both focused on him again, “shall we go see who it is that the ‘Chosen One’ has deemed worthy of standing at his side?”

“Dear, dear, dear. Whatever are we going to tell our sister?”

“I don’t want to die; we’ll let the Boy-Who-Lived, or better yet his new foxy lady, do it.”

“Let’s not wait any longer, then! I’m dying to know what kind of woman could be the proper partner to Harry Potter’s moxie.”

Ron shuffled after his twin older brothers as they left his room and started up the stairs. Once they reached the door at the top, Fred motioned for silence and then pushed it open. Mid-morning sun filtered in through the single small window set into the wall of the attic room, illuminating the two trunks set side by side against the wall and the bed in the center of the little room.

Like the twins had said, and though they were covered by copious amounts of sheets and pillows, it was quite obvious that the bed was occupied by two distinctly separate but closely intertwined forms. Barely visible poking out beneath one of the pillows that the nearest figure had used to cover their head and block out the light was a bit of black hair; Fred and George crept quietly closer and George reached out to poke the sheet-covered mound.

A dry stilted rasp-uncharacteristically disgruntled sounding-issued from the sleeping figure; from all the times Harry had talked in his sleep and their foray into the Chamber of Secrets during their second year at Hogwarts Ron recognized the sound as Parseltongue.

“The ‘Dark Wizard’ who held Hogwarts in a grasp of fear at only 12 has returned to grace our humble home.”

“The ‘Heir of Slytherin’, sleeping in our attic? And to think most people only have bats.”

“I think we ought to wake him up, don’t you?”

“Most definitely.”

“On the count of three then, Fred?”

“On the count of three indeed, George.”

“One…”

“Two…”

“ _Three!”_

The twins reached beneath the sheets and seized the ankles of their unlucky target, swiftly dragging their unfortunate victim off of the mattress and onto the floor with a thump.

All three realized at the same moment that the young man now directing a glare at them that would have put their mother’s to shame _wasn’t_ their longtime friend, and-judging by both his expression and the snarling sound he was making-was probably a great deal less good-natured than the raven. His eyes were a dark and dangerous blue, not green, and his hair-they realized belatedly-was not black but rather a very dark brown.

“You’re not Harry.” The twins said together as Ron edged hastily towards the safety of the stairs.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“He’s Fred.”

“He’s George.”

“You are?”

“Pointedly annoyed and starkly unimpressed.” The stranger growled. “But you can call me Tom. Who’s he?”

“That’s Ron, our little brother.”

“Why? See something you like?”

Tom snorted as he got up off the floor and brushed himself off. “Hardly; I’m not into gingers. No offense.”

“None taken.” The twins chorused.

“Y-yeah, I’m not into men anyway.”

“To each their own taste, though I have to wonder if you’ve ever tried.” He settled himself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “I myself am not into women; I took one to bed once, just to make sure, and quickly discovered they’re about as much fun as a slice of bread.”

Fred and George exchanged gleeful smirks as Ron, mortified, took another step towards the door.

“You know.”

“We had no idea.”

“That Harry , well…”

“Swung that way, Fred?”

“Yes, George. That’s precisely how I would have worded it.”

“He doesn’t.” The dark brunet replied lazily, dismantling the pile of pillows and sheets which Harry had constructed to keep out the light and beginning to card his fingers through his rumpled raven hair. “He said to me once, ‘Tom, I swear to you, I never have been and never will be into men. But for some reason that I don’t quite understand I’m into you.’” He shrugged. “I’m a flexible guy; can work with that.”

“He can work with that, can he?”

“Would seem so.”

Both turned to their younger brother. “What do you think about this revelation, Ron?”

“We should head down to breakfast; Mum’s probably finished making it and I’m sure they’d like to change.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us sticking around.”

“Would you, Pointedly? Sorry, I mean Tom.”

Ron couldn’t help but think that the other’s brief sneer would have been right at home on the face of Draco Malfoy.

“I wouldn’t care, no; I’ve nothing to be ashamed of and have been with so many people already that others seeing my body is hardly a point of concern. Precious, however-virgin that he is-would probably have a heart attack at the mere prospect and I’d rather not have him spending the holidays at St. Mungos’ emergency ward.” Harry grumbled and stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “I think that it’s best you listen to your brother; we’ll both be down soon.”

“Well, seems we’ve been dismissed.”

“That it would.”

“We expect you both down for breakfast in five minutes.”

“Or we’re coming to get you.”

“Clothes or no clothes.”

Out they went, Ron all too relieved to follow them.

“ _The younger one seems uncomfortable with your relationship, Master.”_ Nagini emerged from beneath the sheets where she’d been loosely coiled around their sleeping forms. At least up until the point that he’d been dumped without ceremony onto the floor.

“ _I’m not entirely surprised, to be honest.”_ Tom said, allowing her up onto his shoulders. “ _As he told me, he isn’t truly into men the way that I am. Having found his life partner in a man was a shock to him; I can only imagine it’s an even greater one for his friends. And where Slytherin House was and likely still is fairly hedonistic-we both know how Purebloods can be-and though I was, it seems, quite the Siren in my time, the other Houses tended to be more reserved on the matter of same sex relationships. Back in our time they were accepted, if little more than barely, in the wizarding world and downright illegal in the Muggle world-the backwards bastards-and though from what we’ve been told it’s gotten better such things are still far from ‘normal’ by any stretch of the imagination. His friend will come around, given time.”_

_“I hope that you are right. It is evident that he is close with this family, and losing a friend to something so foolish as prejudice would be a considerable blow at a time when we’re headed towards war.”_

_“Things will work out in the end, my dear. My counterpart, I’m sure, is strong and ruthless but I now know love and a not about to allow him to take that from me.”_

_“You are strong, Master.”_ Nagini agreed. “ _Which is precisely what worries me.”_

Unable to ignore the other male’s insistent prodding any longer Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and sat up.

“It’s not even noon, yet.”

“I know that you’re exhausted, love-I am as well-but we’ve been threatened by the rambunctious twins of your friend that if we don’t change and head down to breakfast terrible things will happen.”

“Fred and George were here?”

“And Ron.”

Harry abruptly went from tired and annoyed to mildly embarrassed and reached for his glasses where they rested on the little bedside table. “Looks like I have some explaining to do, I suppose.”

Tom hummed in acknowledgement and headed over to his trunk to select clothing for the day. Harry lingered in bed a few moments longer before following.

“They woke you up?”

“They did, and quite rudely. An unfortunate case of mistaken identity-though I suppose it’s fortunate for you-it seems.” He replied, replacing his cotton sleep wear with a black wool turtleneck and dark slacks. “They grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me out onto the floor. Needless to say, they were quick to recognize their mistake.”

“Just not quick enough.” Another wordless sound of agreement as Harry pulled a red and gold Gryffindor jumper on over a faded pair of jeans.

“Why are you always burying yourself underneath piles of fabric? With clothes that big on you could safely parachute off the roof.” Tom ran a hand through his hair, thin fingers separating the waves and loose curls far better than a brush or comb could ever hope to.

“Not everyone is so fond of wearing a second skin, Tom.”

The dark brunet shrugged and followed him down the stairs without a reply. By the time they made it into the kitchen only the three girls were still missing from the table. Lupin was sitting between Mr.Weasley-who smiled at them but eyed Tom’s snake warily-and Bill. Across from them sat Fred and George-grinning devilishly, as usual-and Ron who seemed to be doing his best not to make prolonged eye contact with either of them. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, putting the finishing touches on breakfast.

“Harry!” Mr. Weasley greeted him warmly, rising to shake his hand as they approached the table. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Mr. Weasley.”

Releasing him, he turned to Tom; his gaze didn’t leave Nagini, however, and this fact was not lost on the other boy though he said nothing on the matter. “This is him?”

“Yes.”

“Tom Gaunt, Sir. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“No, no; the pleasure is ours. Welcome to our home.”

“Glad to be back in Britain, Harry?” Bill asked him as they sat down at the table. “The travel wasn’t too difficult?”

“No, not too difficult. Could have been better, though, considering I had to stick to Muggle means of getting from place to place.” He said with a small sigh. “The struggles of being underage. Though, to answer your other question, yes. It’s great to finally be back home. Of course, Tom could say the same thing.”

“Not really, love. Britain may be the country of my birth but I never got to know it properly.” He joined into the conversation seamlessly with his own side of the story. “Due to…unfortunate blood relations my Mother felt it would be best for me-safest for me-if I were to be raised elsewhere in secret. She didn’t know that Voldemort had already fallen at the hands of this beautiful devil,” he gestured to Harry with a fond smile on his face, “and didn’t trust the Ministry to be competent in protecting me either, especially should they have fallen to his influence. So she fled with me to Romania and raised me in the Hoia Baciu.”

“The Haunted Forest?” Bill seemed shocked. “Blimey! I know a few Curse Breakers who have had to go there on work for Gringotts. They say that it’s a dark place; enough to drive some mad.” He turned to Harry, looking impressed. “How did you manage to keep your head?”

“Pure stubbornness, I suppose.”

“I’ll admit that it was a quite inhospitable place to live, especially in my younger years. Of course, that’s precisely what made it the perfect place to hide: even the darkest of souls are more likely to avoid it than not. As for retaining my sanity while living there, well,” he leaned calmly back in his chair, “I’d already lost my marbles; years of inbreeding has made my entire line so barmy the forest couldn’t have addled me worse if it had wanted to. Of course, I’m fortunate on two fronts; one, my father-Muggle and bastard though he was-was good looking and I inherited that, and two my issues manifest as something more close to the affliction of the Black Family than the likes of the Crab or Goyle lines.”

“Thankfully.”

“Thankfully, he says.” The twins chuckled. “Such discerning tastes you have, Harry.”

“Oh, now enough of that! It’s time to eat.” A wave of Mrs. Weasley’s wand sent a number of platters of food floating over onto the table. “Help yourselves; the girls should be arriving any minute now.”

Moments later the door to the kitchen was pushed open by Crookshanks, heralding the arrival of Hermoine and Ginny.

“Harry!” The bushy haired brunet cried delightedly, rushing across the room to embrace him without giving him the chance to get up from the chair that he was sitting in. “You’re back! It went well? You’re alright, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He struggled to answer around both her tighter-than-necessary hold and rapid fire questions, trying to pretend he wasn’t distracted by the fact that Ginny had frozen in the doorway, face blanched and eyes locked on Tom. “I’m alright, Hermoine. Everything went fine.”

How had he been so stupid as to have overlooked the fact that there was one other person who knew what Tom had looked like as a teenager because of their contact with the Diary? Ginny. It was a certainty that she would not take kindly to his presence, let alone their relationship, and the last thing they needed was to be on damage control so quickly.

 _That_ explanation would not be fun.

                Before he could open his mouth to speak, though what he’d say he had no idea, Fleur flounced into the kitchen and nearly bowled the smaller witch over.

“No one cared to tell me that breakfast was ready?” she demanded, thick accent making her sound even more annoyed than she obviously was. “Je le jure, sa mére veut que je meure de faim!”

“Ne pensez-vous pas que peut-être un peu dramatique?” All eyes in the room turned onto the dark brunet in surprise. “D’après ce que j’ai vu, c’est une jolie femme.”

“You speak French, Tom? I thought you only spoke Latin.”

“You thought wrong, darling.” He said with a shrug as Fleur sat down on Bill’s other side, her silvery eyes examining him curiously. “I’ve told you before that I speak many languages, Latin and Parseltongue only being a few.” Seconds later he was embroiled in a rapid exchange with the quarter-Veela which Harry didn’t even bother attempting to decipher.

“Hello, Harry.” Ginny’s smile was somewhat more strained than normal when she walked over to speak to him though whether that was due to Tom or Fleur he could no longer tell. “Seems like your mission succeeded; you brought the exchange student back with you.”

“His name is Tom. Tom Gaunt. And yeah.” He attempted to offer a smile of his own but was sure it came out equally as forced. “It took a while to gain his trust, but it was worth it. He’ll be integral in getting a leg up on Voldemort and his Death Eaters.” Maybe they’d gotten lucky and she hadn’t recognized him after all. Either way, that bullet had come far too close for his liking.

So close, in fact, that Harry couldn’t really be sure they’d managed to dodge it at all.


	25. (Not So) Silent Night

The sleet of the night prior had subsided into snow, which had fallen through the early hours of the morning and into the afternoon only stopping with the approach of evening. It was truly bitterly cold-even despite the two sweaters, coat, hat, gloves and scarf that he was wearing-as the setting sun painted the sky with the first hints of dying orange and Harry had no idea how exactly it was that Fred and George had managed to convince all of them to leave the warmth of the Burrow and venture out into the tundra outside. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of silvery white. The cauldrons and old boots completely buried. Small furrows had been cut into the snow by the chickens which lived in the yard, and larger ones were left in their wake as they gathered in the center. Conditions were perfect for a snowball fight.

Nagini had heard the twins’ suggestion and immediately wanted nothing to do with it, abandoning her post on Tom’s shoulders and making to curl up by the fire instead. The dark brunet had been keen to give his competitive streak a bit of exercise and all but pounced on the prospect and Harry, happy to see the other boy managing to fit in so well despite the minor discomfort he’d expressed to him the night prior, had gone along with him without thinking. Now he was beginning to wish he’d taken a cue from Nagini and stayed inside.

“Alright all, listen up.” Fred crowed, eyeing them all up like a drill Sergeant might a line of cadets. “We called you all out here to propose a bit of winter warfare.”

“A frigid fracas.”

“A glacial gambit.”

“All in good fun of course.” The twins grinned wickedly. “An old-fashioned snowball fight. Muggle rules, since Fred and I are the only ones of age for the time being.”

“Sadly.”

“Indeed, George.”

“Team rules; play to last one standing. If it gets to be too much-too cold-then head inside to tap out.”

“George will be the captain of one team, I’ll be the captain of the other.”

“It’d be too much of an advantage if we were together, after all.”

“Lineup, all of you! We’ll split you up.”

“Come now, Precious. I know it’s cold but don’t pout.” Tom led him by the hand over to where the twins had directed them. “The weather could be worse, really.”

“I’m not pouting, Tom.”

“Sure you’re not.” Harry kicked him lightly as they came to a stop between Hermione and Ron. “I’d offer to go easy on you in the likely event we end up on different teams, but I know that would only make you angry.”

“I don’t need anyone to go easy on me, Gaunt.”

“Do you think I’d consider you a worthwhile partner if you did, love?”

“We’ve got an uneven number, Fred.”

“That we do, George. We’ll just have to make do with uneven teams.”

“No we wouldn’t, if _Phlegm_ could bring herself to associate with peasants.” Ginny spat.

“She doesn’t seem that bad to me, just a bit disenfranchised; natural for someone when surrounded by others who don’t speak their first language.” Tom had said it, not him, but Harry found himself in the path of the glares the two girls directed at the dark brunet and couldn’t help but shudder.

“Of _course_ you don’t think she’s ‘that bad’.” Hermione sounded scandalized by the mere thought that anyone could think Fleur was anything but awful. “Men tend not to.”

“She doesn’t affect me.”

“She’s a quarter Veela.”

“And I’m gayer than a herd of pink unicorns!”

“Okay then,” George trilled in a singsong voice, smirking. “Let’s channel that aggression into throwing snowballs; we’ll divide you into teams now. Ron!”

“Yeah?”

“Choose a number between 1 and 10; we’ll guess. Whoever gets closest gets to choose first.” Fred said. “Got it yet?” Ron nodded. “10.”

“5.”

“3.”

“Blast! Well George, you first.”

“Thanks, Fred.” He said. “Gaunt, you’re on my team.”

Tom sighed. “Perks of being the new kid, I suppose.” He stepped out of the line and crossed to stand beside George.

“I get Harry, then.”

“Because we wouldn’t want anyone to end up with a set.”

Tom offered Harry a smile which only carried a slight promise of danger as he went to stand on the opposite side of the line with Fred. The raven shivered slightly, already well aware of precisely who the other boy would be going out of his way to aim for and certain he wouldn’t be able to dodge everything.

“Ginny.”

“Happily.” Her eyes were set on Tom.

“Hermione, you’re with us.”

“Oh, alright then. Come on, Ron.”

“What do you bloody mean ‘oh, alright then’?”

“Nothing, nothing little brother.”

Ron was obviously less than satisfied with his brother’s answer.

“Alright, you all. Scatter! On the count of 10 its Battle Royale!” They all took off running to different corners of the yard as Fred and George began counting down. Tom disappeared into the tall grass, as did Hermione and Ginny. Ron ran around to the back of the Burrow. Harry ducked behind the small shed that Mr. Weasley used to study Muggle artifacts just as the twins shouted _“play ball!”_ And hastily began to shape a handful of snow.

He barely had a split second’s warning to duck before a snowball exploded against the back of the shed, right where his head had been. Tom rearmed himself at remarkable speed and lobbed another snowball at him, nearly making contact yet again, and then darted back into the tall grass before Harry could return fire.

He wasn’t about to let him get away that easily.

Snowball still in hand, Harry darted off in pursuit of the other boy. He caught up with him in a surprisingly short span of time, only to discover he’d walked into an ambush.

“Fire, Granger!” One snowball hit him in the side and another, courtesy of Tom, pegged him in the chest. Harry threw his and managed to hit Tom in the shoulder and then all three were running again.

Hermione disappeared into the brush as Harry drove Tom back towards the Burrow, exchanging a few more snowballs which neither of them bothered to dodge only to be herded into separate battles soon after the sudden arrival of Ginny and George.

“Hope lover-boy isn’t going easy on you, Harry.” He snickered, pegging him with a beater’s aim as the little redheaded witch went tearing off after Tom’s fleeing form, lobbing snowballs after him as if they were grenades.

“He knows better.” The raven replied, ducking another projectile before returning fire. Missing by a mile as George disappeared around the corner of the Burrow.

By the time Mrs. Weasley called them all inside darkness had fallen completely and in spite of his winter clothing Harry felt as if he’d been frozen through. Tom didn’t look much better than he felt; Ginny, it turned out, had attacked him with a single-minded fury and shockingly good aim. His pale cheeks were flushed and the tip of his nose was bitten bright red with cold. His coat and scarf were dripping and ice had formed in his fringe and eyelashes. Surprisingly, he wasn’t shivering.

He smiled widely at him as they stepped through the door, joining the others in shucking off their drenched outerwear. “Well,” Tom said, “that was fun. But your best friend’s sister seems out for my blood.”

“That’s Ginny.” Hermione said from their right as Tom pulled a somewhat unwilling Harry under his arm. “She’s had a bit of a thing for Harry for a number of years now. The problem she has with you is jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” Harry repeated as the three of them headed into the kitchen after the others. “I thought that she was over me. Was dating someone else.”

“Dean Thomas, yes. But that’s just it, she was fine with dating someone else in the meantime because you _weren’t_. You were single, and she was trying to make you jealous!”

Because that was exactly what he needed to be dealing with right now.

“Insidious!” Tom exclaimed with a snort, dislodging the last remnants of un-melted snow from his fringe. “This is one reason why I could never see myself with a woman; we menfolk are far more straightforward and honest.”

“Are we all, Tom? Because you seem to be very feminine in certain regards. Like the backstabbing I know you can be prone to.”

“Oh, bite me darling. It’s my snake side.”

“Dinner will be ready soon and a few more people are going to be stopping by for the Christmas meal; you’re all dripping wet. Head upstairs and dry off before dinner.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

“So you lived in Romania?” Hermione asked as they exited the kitchen and headed up the first flight of stairs. “What’s it like there? I’ve always wanted to travel; my parents have taken me a couple of places, but never outside of Britain.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t provide you much explanation of Romania.” Tom told her. “I rarely left the forest where I lived; the Muggles in the nearest town-Cluj Napoca-were very superstitious. They thought of me as some manner of demon; I’ve never had a good experience with non-magical people.”

“Not everyone is out to hurt those who are different from them, Tom. There are good Muggles in Britain -like my parents-you’ll see.”

He smiled at her softly as they parted ways at the door of the room she shared with Ginny.

“Barring the jealous little sister, your social circle is quite welcoming.” The dark brunet said as they continued up the stairs towards the attic. “I doubt they’ll take well to the truth, when it inevitably comes out.”

“There’s nothing inevitable about it coming out. Those who know are sworn to secrecy, I’m not about to spill on the matter and I doubt that you are either.”

“Your naivety is endearing.” He said. “Sure that everyone who knows is sworn to secrecy, are you Harry?”

“Positive.” The raven paused at the door of their room. “Can you think of anyone?”

“Me.” Tom replied. “Or, rather, him. The Disillusionment Charm won’t work to hide my identity from Voldemort.”

“We’ll have to resort to other means then, not that it will matter; if we play our cards right we won’t have to run into him directly for a while.”

“Crossing the bridge when one comes to it isn’t always the wisest solution, love.”

“It’s the only solution we have.”

“An unfortunate reality.” Tom pulled the towel from his trunk and draped it over his head, quickly attacking his hair in an effort to dry the snow drenched strands. “Who else do you reckon is coming over tonight?”

“Don’t know.” Harry replied, tossing his own towel back into his trunk. “Since the Burrow is acting as the temporary headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, it could be anyone.”

“That’s the second time that I’ve heard that. ‘Temporary’ headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” He said, dropping his towel back into his trunk and beginning to search through it for something. “Where was the original headquarters then?”

Maybe if he hadn’t been burrowing through his belongings at the time Tom might’ve noticed the stricken look which flashed across his face.

“It is… Was… Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The home of my godfather, Sirius Black.”

“Black?” Tom repeated, sitting up. “Your godfather was a Black? An old Pureblood family; impressive. Though I am surprised, given their take on Muggle-borns and who your mother was.”

“Sirius was different. He hated his family. Hated that house; ran away from it as a teenager.” Harry said. “He died last year. The Order moved, worried that despite Sirius’ will the house would go to his closest blood relation. His killer. Bellatrix Lestrange. It went to me, turns out, but they haven’t gotten around to moving back.”

“Lestrange?” The raven nodded. “Another person that you cared about that my counterpart and his followers have taken from you.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, Tom.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Tom fell silent for a while. “Love, I think I’d like for you to open your gift tonight. After dinner.” The little package that he pulled from his trunk was narrow and rectangular and reminded Harry vaguely of a wand box. It was wrapped carefully in green paper and bound with a silver ribbon. “A distraction from wounds I hadn’t meant to reopen.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I insist.”

Harry sighed and reached into his own trunk, pulling an approximately book sized object out. “After dinner, then; we’re expected back downstairs.”

“To the circus, then.”

The pair returned down the stairs and into the kitchen where, if anything, things had only become more wild then when they’d first gone upstairs to dry off. There were so many people in the small room that it was difficult to move. Tonks was sitting at the table, entertaining Hermione and Ginny with a caricature of Fleur which the quarter Veela-hanging off of her fiancé-didn’t notice. Lupin was engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Weasley Kingsley and Mad-Eye. Mrs. Weasley had roped Fred and George into assisting her with finishing up dinner.

“Looks like the ‘Azkaban Guard’ is here to make sure I don’t pull a Ba-humbug and murder Christmas.” Tom grumbled under his breath.

“We don’t know their specifically here for you.”

“Don’t we?” His tone was dry.

“They’ll get use to you, provided you behave.”

“You say that like I make a habit of being a hell raiser; I’m good at making others view me as an Angel.” The dark brunet replied. “I’ll behave.”

The pair sat down beside Ron. Though the Auror at the far end of the table said nothing on the matter of his appearance, the electric blue eye shifted over to affix him in a focused stare.

“So you’re Ron?” He asked politely, attracting the attention of the ginger who regarded him warily. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. All good things of course. Well… Perhaps aside from the unfortunate incident with the fake color changing charm.”

“You _told him_ about that?” Ron seemed horrified. Both Tom and Harry laughed.

“Can you blame me for asking? Given my circumstances, I’ve never had _real_ friends. At least, not human ones.” He said, then looked around the crowded room. “Come to think of it, where is Nagini anyway?”

“Over here, by the fire. Asleep by the look of it.” Lupin called.

“Should have known, what with how bitter it is outside today.” Tom set back slightly in his chair. “She’s not in the way, is she?”

“Oh no, dear. Your pet is fine to stay where she is if she wishes to. For such a large snake she can make herself quite small.”

“So you spent the last semester traveling around Europe, mate?” Ron asked, glancing at Harry.

“Not all of it, but a good portion. Yeah.” He said. “The portkey landed me in Ukraine. Two months into my search I found my way into a less than memorable city in Romania-Cluj Napoca-and found a snake which was able to lead me to Nagini. After winning her trust I eventually found myself outside the little cabin where Tom lived. Earning his trust was difficult, but convincing him to come back with me was even harder.”

“I’ll admit that I’m not a person who is altruistic by nature. Like most of my bloodline, as well as those who find themselves sorted into the House of my distant ancestor, I place value on self-preservation and self-dependency.” Tom told him. “But there are some forces in this world which can make one go against their own nature, love being one of them.”

“Love.” Ron repeated. “So… You are really… I had no idea that you were into… I mean, he said that you told him you weren’t, but-.”

Harry, deciding to take mercy on his evidently struggling friend, answered without waiting for Ron to complete the wording of the question which was causing him quite a bit of trouble. “Sometimes gender doesn’t matter, Ron. Sometimes you just meet someone who’s… Right, I suppose is the word.”

Tom snort was far from delicate. “A way with words you have, Precious.”

The raven ignored him and continued talking. “But, in case it makes you feel any better to know this, no. I’m not gay.”

“Oh,” the redhead was evidently relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. You didn’t happen to run into Charlie while you were in Romania, did you?”

“Oh, no.” He said, blinking in surprise. “To be honest, I’d completely forgotten that Charlie worked in Romania.”

“He does?” Tom’s interest seem to have been piqued. “Doing what?”

“He’s a Dragonologist.”

“He works with _dragons_?” He seemed shocked. “Bloody hell, those things are dangerous; not even the type of XXXXX rated creature one of special skills can reason with. I can’t imagine.”

“Because we’re all aware that snakes-and similar creatures-are much more the Heir of Slytherin’s cup of tea.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who glared at him in return.

“The actions of my unfortunate familial relation regarding the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk contained therein, of which Harry has informed me, are not something that should be held against me. Though, I’ll admit, it’s a shame that the beast is dead as I would have loved the chance to see a living Basilisk, especially one as long as Salazar’s was said to be.” He said calmly, voice level. “I have done nothing to you, perhaps aside from stealing your man, and as such do not appreciate being on the receiving end of your distain.”

Ginny opened her mouth to speak again but her words were cut off by Fleur before they could even begin.

“You are a lucky man, Tom, to have managed to catch someone like Harry for yourself.” She said, grinning widely at the raven in question. “He is not my type-I have Bill, here-but that does not change my fondness for him; it is deserved of course. Two years ago, now, he and I were both participants of the Tri-wizard Tournament; he for Hogwarts and myself for Beauxbattons. Though we were against each other in the race for the cup that did not stop him from saving my little sister during the second task. Gabrielle would have died had it not been for him.”

Tom smiled ingratiatingly at her and began gently picking at Harry’s wild hair in an effort to tame it somewhat, ignoring the other’s quiet protests and attempts to lean away. “He does seem to have a penchant for that. Saving people. He saved me, too. Perhaps not physically, but… I’ll admit to having been a moral schizoid without much in the way of compunction before he got to me.”

“Que c’est mignon!” She squealed much to the evidence displeasure of the other two girls, gripping her fiancé’s arm and shaking him for his attention. “Bill! Oh, Bill, don’t you think they’re perfect for each other!”

“Yes, dear. I’m sure they’ll both be together for a good while, might even get married.” He sounded distracted, attempting to indulge her while at the same time trying to continue his conversation.

Tom smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes.

Dinner passed fairly quickly, which Harry was grateful for. Tom became involved in a conversation with Tonks over her Metamorphmagus abilities and what it was like to be an Auror; from time to time he’d shoot a glare at Mad-Eye, whose electric blue eye hadn’t once left him. Harry discussed Quidditch with Ron, learning that Ginny had again played Seeker in his absence and that the Gryffindor team would be glad to see him back, and discovering from Hermione that Ron’s newfound relationship with Lavender Brown was really beginning to wear on her nerves and in some ways their friendship had suffered because of it.

On top of that, Draco Malfoy was acting strange. It was that knowledge that worried him most.

Picking up on his distress, Tom poured a mug of eggnog and all but forced it into his hand before settling beside him on a couch in the sitting room; they’d all been forced out of the kitchen once the meal had concluded so that some manner of Order related conversation could take place.

“Whatever is on your mind, push it to the side for now. You worry too much, Harry.” Though, coming from someone who obsessed over the smallest details of a plan, being told not to worry didn’t mean all that much. “It’s the holidays. We’ll handle whatever the problem is when the term begins. Together.”

“He’s right, Harry.” Hermione agreed, seating herself in a nearby armchair and sending Ron-who had immediately begun to stuff his face with holiday cakes-a disapproving look. “If you don’t take the chance to relax when it presents itself the stress will kill you long before anyone else gets the chance to.”

“They can try to,” Tom said acidly, “but they won’t bloody make it through me!”

Harry pushed the mug at him. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“Pish! I’ll pour my own.” As he reached for the pitcher again Fred and George hit a particularly out of pitch note in the Christmas song they’d been singing along with the radio, making the dark brunet visibly cringe.

“The pair of you are so out of tune that you sound like shrieking Hippogriffs!” He snapped. “My ears are bleeding!”

“Are they?”

“We don’t see any blood.”

“Think you’re exaggerating just a bit, mate.”

“Just a bit.”

“It’s an expression! Or have you never heard of such a thing before?” He hissed into his drink.

“Well, if you’re so sure were off tune why don’t you show us how it’s properly done?”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, George. Gaunt should show us better, if he really thinks he knows better.”

“You’re right, Fred. He ought to prove he does.”

“I don’t have to prove anything; Harry knows I’m musical and can credit me.”

“I’ve heard you play piano before, Tom, but I haven’t heard you sing.” Harry wasn’t quite able to contain the smirk which unfurled across his face. “I’d like to hear that.”

“… Smarmy bastard, _fine_!” With a semi-overdramatic sigh he set his mug down on the table in front of them. “Turn that damned thing up, then.”

The twins were all too happy to move the radio onto the table and turn the volume up to a nearly deafening level.

**Herod the King**

**In his raging**

**Charged he hath this day**

**His men of might**

**In his own sight**

**All children young to slay**

**Then woe is me**

**Poor child for thee**

**And ever mourn and say**

**For thy parting**

**Nor say nor sing**

**By-by lully lullay.**

Tom picked up his mug again and set back, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“I think I’ve sufficiently prove my point.” He said.

“You’re very good.”

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“Who taught you?”

He shrugged. “You teach yourself any number of fairly pointless things to ease the boredom which comes inherent with solitude and a lack of human contact.” Tom glanced into his cup. “I should probably stop drinking this, considering I can taste the Fire Whiskey. And I’m sure that you and I, Harry, both remember the last time I drank _that_.”

“We do.”

“What happened?” Fred sounded just a little bit too interested.

“Yeah, Harry, what happened? Drunken escapades make for great stories later.”

“Neither of us can really remember,” the raven admitted. “We were both a little bit too pissed at the time.”

“My first time drunk: the hangover was a nightmare!” With a small flourish Tom reproduced the carefully wrapped gift, though from where Harry had not the slightest clue. “But now is the time, I think, to get around to this. At least between the two of us.”

“Gifts? So early? Naughty boys, you two; going against tradition!”

Harry rolled his eyes and handed Tom his own gift.

“Your boyfriend wraps presents like a girl, Harry.” George noted as both twins sat themselves down on top of the coffee table. Ron and Hermione leaned curiously closer and even Ginny moved over to get a better look.

“How are we going to do this?” Tom asked. “I say one at a time, but if you’d rather we both go at it-?”

“You first.”

“Me first?”

“With how you’ve been going on about whatever is in this bloody box my gift is going to be completely shown up so we may as well get it over with!”

“Well then, if you insist darling.” Tom undid the ribbon tied around the gift and pulled off the paper, revealing a leather covered book which he seemed to recognize after a moment’s confusion. “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo; Harry, wherever did you come by an authentic Latin copy of Virgil’s _Aeneid_?”

“Lying around, though it admittedly took a considerable degree of looking.” He told him. “You’ve read it before?”

“In English, not Latin; I’m interested to know if the translations were done correctly.” He said, flipping through the delicate aged pages. “Open mine! I’ve been dying to see you wearing it for months!”

All eyes were on him, it seemed, as he undid the well tied silver ribbon and neatly wrapped green paper to reveal the narrow box inside. Pulling off the lid, he unveiled the locket with a sturdy chain and a heavy golden clasp inset with numerous small emeralds.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron yelped. “That thing must be worth a fortune!”

“And I didn’t have to pay a single Knut; it’s an heirloom of my family, just as my ring is, and belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself.” Tom plucked the locket from the box, holding it in his long graceful fingers. “It will only open when spoken to in Parseltongue, naturally, but aside from that there are other things about it you should know. I’ve personally charmed it so that only you or I can remove it once you put it on, and should anyone attempt to steal it they’ll receive a fairly nasty bite. Not only that, but so long as you have the locket on and I wear my ring we’ll each be alerted if the other is in danger. Something which will likely come to be useful in the future. May I put it on you?”

“I can-.”

“I know that you can, but all of the ‘Chosen One’ nonsense has made your head so big that you can’t simply slip it on and it’s easier to have someone else cinch it for you than to have to do it yourself.”

Harry glared at the other’s cheeky grin while everyone else attempted to stifle snickers. Tom quickly reached behind him to redo the cinch and allowed the clasp to fall heavily against his chest.

“It looks beautiful on you, love. The emeralds match your eyes.”

“You two romantic sods are going to make all the rest of us sick!”

“Too bad we decided against the mistletoe this year.”

Tom seemed to agree that it was a pity. Harry, however, was beyond thankful he didn’t have to worry about being ambushed by a hanging plant.

“Well,” Hermione said suddenly, getting to her feet, “it’s rather late, isn’t it? We should all head to bed, don’t you think: none of us want to sleep the whole of Christmas day away do we?”

“Oh, come on Hermione!” Ron protested. “It’s holiday break; stay up late, sleep in late and don’t do any homework at all.”

“I think that she has a point,” Tom said, picking up his book and getting to his feet. Harry sent him a sideways glance. “I, myself, feel a bit drained after such a busy day. Ready to retire, Precious?”

Warily, Harry got to his feet as well. “Sure, why not? We didn’t get as much sleep as we wanted to this morning.”

“You’re welcome.”

“George and I will be in the same time tomorrow if you’d like?”

“No, thank you.” He said, following Tom towards the stairs. “We’ll wake up on our own tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You’re really tired, Tom?” He asked once they’d climbed the second flight of stairs and were out of earshot.

The taller boy snorted. “Tired? At what can’t be later than 9? Please!”

“Then what are you up to?”

“Why do you suggest that I’m up to anything?”

“Because you agreed that everyone should go to bed, claimed you were still tired from being woken up too early this morning, and yet now you’re telling me that you’re  not. So you must be up to something.”

“Oh, nothing escapes the notice of the Gryffindor Golden Boy.” He crossed the attic room and pushed open the little window, letting in a blast of frigid air, and leaned out of it. Flecks of melting snow had settled in his hair by the time he moved away. “You and I are going to get up to a little bit of mischief tonight; there’s somewhere that I want to take you.”

“We’ve been told not to leave the Burrow, Tom.”

“And you’ve never left somewhere you were told to stay put in?”

Harry wasn’t sure if it was Legilimency or his own guilty conscious that brought the memory of his third year flight from Privet Drive to the forefront of his mind. “… I’ll concede that point.”

“I won’t let us get into trouble, Harry. And, I promise you, it’s completely safe.” Tom looked down at him imploringly. “He’s not going to go anywhere near where I’m planning to take you. Not voluntarily. Hell, to be honest with you I’m not even sure if it’s still there. But I need to do this.”

“It’s that important to you?”

“Yes.” He replied. “When we get there, you’ll understand why.”

“And if it’s not there anymore?”

“We’ll head straight back right away: I swear on my magic.”

“Alright.” He relented with a small smile, rebellious streak overruling his reservations yet again. “But if we get caught, you’re the one who takes the wrap.”

“Agreed.” Tom said, pleased by their deal. “Dress warm. We’ll be out for a while.”


	26. Through the Cold of Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay; a combination of sleeping in way too late yesterday and lemons having a habit of giving me trouble lead to not being able to get this chapter up when I meant to.

“Be careful, there’s a lot of ice.” Tom warned as he dropped down onto a lower roof, somehow preventing the sheets of tin from rattling raucously beneath his boots. “Come on; I’ll catch you if you slip.”

“I’ve got it, Tom.” Somewhat reluctantly Harry released his hold on a water pipe and dropped down onto the roof beside him. The taller boy hadn’t been lying about the ice; his feet slipped out from beneath him and, had it not been for Tom’s quick reaction time, he would have toppled off the roof and probably broken his leg.

“You alright, there?”

“Fine.” Harry said, disregarding how tightly he was clinging to the other’s arm. “Remind me why we couldn’t have just used my cloak and taken the stairs?”

“Because the Weird-eyed Auror is still down there, for all we know, and he would have seen through the cloak for sure.” Tom replied matter of factly. “Come on, Precious. One more roof and we’ll be able to safely jump down.”

Harry really didn’t like the thought of jumping off a roof, especially knowing how drastically his luck was known to swing.

“Don’t fret, it isn’t that high.” Tom swung himself gracefully down onto the final roof.

“You’ve jumped off the Astronomy Tower! Multiple times!”

“You’re point?” As he clambered down onto the last roof Tom leapt lightly into the trampled snow which filled the yard below them. “Want me to catch you, love? I can.”

“Bugger off!”

The dark brunet had to smother his laughter to keep himself from being heard as Harry released his hold on the edge of the roof and dropped into the snow.

“Well, come on then. No time to waste; they could end the meeting and come outside to leave at any moment and we can’t afford to be caught out here.”

Tom led the way out of the open yard and into the frosted tall grass. They walked in silence for a while before he finally came to a stop and held out his hand.

“We should be out of the range of any wards or sensory charms which may have been set up.” He said. “We’ll apparate now.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, by any chance?”

“Course not! Where’s the fun in that?”

The claustrophobic press of darkness unique to apparition collapsed in around them, then, and when it released its hold Harry found himself standing in an alleyway somewhere in London. It was even colder here than it had been at the Burrow; snow fell slowly in large silent flakes, drifting through the still air suffused by the grey glow of street lights. Very few people were on the street to see the two teenaged boys step out of the all but forgotten snickleway.

“Should be…this way.” Tom paused momentarily to check his sense of direction before striking out down the street. Harry followed after him in silence, not wanting to disturb the thoughts of the past which were clearly playing out behind the other’s dark blue eyes.

They hurried down streets and around corners and ultimately came to a stop in front of a wrought iron gate circling a decaying wooden structure. Above the sign which read **CONDEMNED** in angry red letters which had been hung from the rusted gate were carved-iron lettering which bore forlorn testimony to what had once been.

**Wool’s Orphanage**

Tom said nothing, but drew the Hornbeam wand from his inner pocket and tapped the chain which had been padlocked shut around the gate. It uncoiled like a serpent and dropped to the sidewalk with a quiet clink. The metal hinges shrieked in protest as the gate was pushed wide for what had to be the first time in years, and the last obstacle to their entry was removed.

“Come on, then. We shouldn’t linger in this cold.”

The yard consisted more of rock and weeds than grass, their shriveled yellow husks killed off by the bitter winter chill. Loose broken gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked across it and towards the rotted wooden porch.

“Watch your step.”

Tom tested the structural integrity of the porch before daring to step up onto it and approach the door. Another pass of his wand and the papers proclaiming further warnings of the building’s looming fate crumbled away to ash. The door, too, crumbled beneath the touch of his gloved hand; chunks of aged wood, spongey with rot, clattered to the ground at their feet.

It was noticeably warmer inside of the abandoned orphanage, away from the snow and occasional gust of wind, if only just. Tom stowed his wand away and closed the door behind them.

“Tom-?”

“Welcome to my home, Harry.” He said, though there was an unnatural flat tone to his voice. “Not that I ever considered this place as such, despite it being the unfortunate place of my birth. And of my mother’s death. No, to me this place was more of a prison for the summers. Hogwarts was my first _true_ home. A fate to which, it seems, my counterpart has consigned you as well.” Without much warning he turned and started cautiously up the stairs. “This way. Don’t step in the center of the stairs, as they’re liable to collapse under the weight.”

Up onto the second floor and then the third before turning off the steps and down a hallway. Stopping outside of a nondescript door and pushing it open to reveal a room which was not much larger than your standard broom closet. There was no furniture inside of it, now, yet Harry could easily imagine the bland wardrobe small desk and metal framed cot outfitted with a mattress far too thin to be anything close to comfortable.

“My room.” His voice was quiet, but the deadened quality had faded somewhat as he crossed towards the tiny boarded up window. “Come in, and close the door behind you please.”

Harry did so, shutting the decaying door behind himself obediently and waiting for the other boy to speak again. To explain. Tom was silent for a long while, cast in deep shadow and strips of what dim light managed to make it through the boarded window of the little room filled with the sharp smells of dust and sickly sweet decaying wood.

When he finally turned to face him again it was with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“You’re wondering why I felt the need to take you here, I’m sure?”

“To say the least.”

“You know about this place?”

Harry nodded. “One of the memories that Professor Dumbledore showed me prior to sending me to retrieve you was of your first meeting. Where he burned the wardrobe. And you told him that you could-.”

“Speak to snakes.” Tom nodded slowly. “Would you be surprised to hear that my memories are precisely the reason that I brought you here?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“I’ll lay it out simply, then. I’d be lost without you; it’s a certainty that I’d have been devoured by the darkness that I thought I could control. My counterpart is testament to that. You’ve been open with me regarding your past and all you’ve been through in a way which I could never imagine anyone being. I am, by nature, a closed and private person but I feel that I owe it to you to return the favor. I brought you here, to the place of my birth, so that I could show you my memories: I want you to know me like I know you.”

Harry knew that his surprise was quite clearly showing on his face, but at the time he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He was shocked, quite frankly, that Tom would be willing to do such a thing especially by his own volition and prerogative. “You want to…but we’d need a Pensive.”

“No we don’t. All we’d need to let you see my memories is prolonged eye contact.” Tom stepped closer. Harry could now make out his familiar form more clearly through the gloom. “I’m a Legellimens of considerable skill, remember?”

“I wasn’t aware that Legellimency could work that way.”

“It isn’t meant to,” he admitted, “but it can, under the right conditions.” He gently took his chin in his gloved hand. “This will feel a bit uncomfortable at first, but don’t fight it. Just relax; this will only take a few moments.”

With slight hesitance on account of his previous painful experiences with Legellimency-largely thanks to Snape-Harry locked eyes with the taller boy. The sensation that followed was an odd mix of falling into a Pensive and using a Portkey; he was yanked forwards out of his own head and sent tumbling into deep unending blue.

He landed on his feet in the middle of a crowded Great Hall; it only took Harry a brief few moments to catch onto exactly what was going on. Dippet sat in the Headmaster’s chair and amidst a line of first years, small for his age and clad in threadbare second hand robes, stood Tom.

“Riddle, Thomas!” He didn’t recognize the Professor who had been tasked with reading off the names that night.

Tom moved forwards with a pronounced caution and settled himself on the stool, submitting to examination by the Sorting Hat.

Harry had never seen the Hat take less than twenty seconds to properly examine a student, but to his total shock it didn’t even wait to be fully put on before screaming “SLYTHERIN!” as if it had been burned.

The green and silver table did not clap, nor make even the slightest move to welcome its newest member. The other three Houses stared. Tom made his way warily over and sat down, alone, at the far end of the table.

Harry watched as a massive 7th year, possibly a Beater on the Quidditch team judging by his build, rose from his seat and approached Tom. Only stopping when he was looming over the smaller boy who, the raven had to admit, did an admirable job of glowering right back.

“You’re not welcome in Snake House, you filthy Mud Blood!”

Between one blink and the next the memory changed; the world warped and twisted and the next thing he knew Tom was alone, bundled up against the encroaching chill of coming winter with a book on Charms open in his lap, seated amongst the gnarled roots of one of the Forbidden Forest’s trees. He looked older, Harry realized, and slightly better fed; if he had to guess, he would say that it was now his second year.

“ _Curse this weather; the season’s turn was unexpected! I haven’t had the proper time to prepare!”_ Tom and Harry both started at the sound of the hissing voice which, to the raven, was familiar but to the dark brunet at the time was not. He lowered his book and looked around, slowly rising to his feet and proceeding in the direction from which the voice was continuing to issue. “ _No choice. I’ll have to find some way to get into the castle. Hide there; escape the notice of the humans until the warmth returns. I’ll freeze to death otherwise.”_

He spotted her, then. Long muscular form slithering through the dappled shadows of the dying underbrush.

“ _So you want to get into the castle, do you Serpent?”_ the snake whipped around with a strangled hiss of surprise; Tom’s face broke into an amused smirk. “ _I can help you with that.”_

 _“A speaker?”_ she coiled back, then reared up curiously to examine him from a better angle. Yet to hit his growth spurt and still being quite small for his age, this left the two of them at nearly eye level. “ _There hasn’t been a human speaker in the castle in many years. What is your name, speaker?”_

 _“Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”_ He told her. “ _You, Serpent?”_

 _“Snakes have no need for names. They are human constructs; products of your human societies.”_ He forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. “ _You said that you could help me get into the castle, speaker?”_

_“I did. And I can.”_

_“What is your price?”_

Tom’s smirk widened; evidently, the serpent pleased him immensely. “ _I require your company. In return for permanent protection from the cold of winter, you’ll become my Familiar: I lack in human company, and though I am fine with being alone it gets old having no one to talk to.”_

 _“I don’t see why you have trouble drawing humans to you, Master.”_ She said, crawling up his offered arm and settling herself about his shoulders. “ _You wear the colors of Snake House; surely the others worship the ground upon which Slytherin’s descendant walks.”_

 _“Slytherin’s decendant?”_ He snorted mirthlessly. “ _No. I’m a Muggle born.”_

_“Impossible. Parseltongue is not a branch of magic which can manifest at random in the offspring of Muggles. Only those hatchlings of Slytherin’s blood can speak the language of serpents.”_

“ _I looked into my bloodline, Serpent. There is no wizarding family that bears my Father’s name.”_

 _“You are aware, Master, that females can have magic too?”_ She sounded amused.

_“My mother can’t have been a witch. If she were magical, she wouldn’t have been weak enough to die and leave me alone in that hellhole.”_

_“Death comes for all things, Master. Muggle and Magical.”_

Tom frowned and fidgeted. Clearly, he was already unnerved by the prospect of dying. “ _Even if I wanted to look into my mother, all I know of her is her first name.”_

_“Perhaps I can assist you, Master. All serpents come to hear of those who can communicate with us in time. The last known name of those who lay claim to Slytherin’s blood was Gaunt. Start your search there.”_

_“Gaunt?”_  He repeated, thoughtfully. Running his gloved fingers gently over her scales. “ _Even if I do begin to research again, it will take months or even years before I find anything.”_

_“All the more reason to begin immediately.”_

The dark brunet chuckled. _“A fair point you make, Serpent.”_ He said. “ _Shall I name you, or do you have a name in mind which you’d prefer?”_

_“Name me as you wish, Master. Though, might I request that we return inside soon? It’s cold out here.”_

_“Of course, I can find a place to read which is a bit warmer for you.”_ Stepping over a curl of tangled roots, he headed back towards the castle. “ _Your name will be Nagini.”_

Another rapid shift. Tom, now 13, was standing at a table in the library with a book open in front of him and Nagini watching from the windowsill. He was flipping through the book anxiously, lips thinned and gaze darting from time to time to the clock which hung on the wall.

“ _Hurry, Master, or you’re going to miss the train!”_

 _“I know, Nagini. It’s down to the wire, but I can’t leave this for another year. Not when I’m so close.”_ He said, flipping the last few pages before stopping on a particular family tree. “ _If Sacred Bloodlines doesn’t come through for me, nothing will. And if my mother was a Gaunt-a descendant of Slytherin-she’ll be on this…here!”_

He stabbed the page victoriously with one finger, a predatory grin on his face which did not belong on someone so young.

“ _You were right, Nagini. I’m not a Muggle Born, not a Mud Blood. I’m a Half-blood! I’m the Heir of Slytherin!”_ He closed the book with a snap. _“And I know exactly what project I’m going to start on next year. Aside from assembling a loyal circle, of course. Soon these hallowed halls shall bear witness to the rise of a Dark Lord greater, even, than Grindlewald!”_

His fourth year was skipped over entirely; when Harry next saw Tom, he looked exactly as he had in the memory that the Diary had shown him. He realized with a start that this was likely earlier on that very same night.

Tom swept down the aisle between the serpent adorned pillars and approached the towering statue of Salazar Slytherin. He stared up at it in awe for a long time before raising a hand towards the marble form and barking the same command which the Diary had used to set the Basilisk on him.

“ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!”_

The mouth of the statue opened with a low grating sound and the Basilisk, its body as long as a whale and thick around as a Sycamore tree, slithered forth onto the tiled floor.

“ _So long asleep.”_ It hissed, its voice alone enough to chill his blood. Its yellow eyes fixed on Tom, who was cautious not to meet its gaze directly. “ _So you are the Heir, then? You look much different than my Master, who bid me sleep all those years ago.”_

 _“I am the Heir, Tom Marvolo Riddle, soon to be known the world over as Lord Voldemort. I am your Master now, and it is my command that you shall follow.”_ He spoke without a trace of fear, despite standing before a creature large enough to swallow him whole were it of half a mind to. “ _I wish for you to carry out the mandate assigned to you by my great ancestor, and purge this noble school of the Mud Blood filth. Can you do this?”_

 _“Can I do it? Know you nothing of my kind, hatchling? I need only look the unworthy in the eye to kill. By the time they see me coming it will be far too late to scream; my eyes shall be the last thing that any of them know.”_ It almost seemed insulted by the insinuation it might be incapable of killing. “ _Lead the way, Heir of my Master. Let the purge begin.”_

Harry caught the vicious smirk on Tom’s face as he turned and began to lead the great serpent back through the tunnels and out of the Chamber.

“ _Search the castle. Use the pipes. Lie in wait to-.”_

“Go away!”

Tom whirled around with a growl of annoyance, his eyes landing on Myrtle a split second before the Basilisk’s head snapped around; Harry didn’t have the chance to look away before it was all over.

He’d never heard the dark brunet swear as viciously as he did then.

“ _Blast it all; too close to the entrance! Everything is going to be given away! That damned fool Dumbledore is sure to suspect my hand in this! Go back to the Chamber, immediately! It will be some time before I can safely call for you again!”_

As the great serpent turned in on itself and slithered back down the passage into the Chamber, Tom approached Myrtle’s fallen form and examined her corpse with a clinical detachment.

“At least she was a Mud Blood; her death means nothing in the greater scheme of things.” He turned away from her to leave the girl’s bathroom. “Seems I have a mess to clean up.”

When everything turned dark it took Harry a moment to realize that he was now standing in a place which he didn’t recognize. He was staring at a bare concrete wall plastered with bright red posters proclaiming the slogan **Keep Calm and Carry On** beneath a motif of a crown and standing in the middle of a small room. Lit by a single, naked, swinging bulb and packed full of people it was stuffy and hot, filled with a mixture of sobbing and the muffled shriek of air raid sirens, broken intermittently by the distant sounds of an explosion.

A bomb shelter.

Where was Tom? This was his memory, so he had to be there somewhere. Harry squinted through the wildly swinging light and occasional belch of dust and debris which sprinkled down from the ceiling overhead, searching the faces of those surrounding him. He finally located the other boy curled up on himself in the darkest corner of the shelter, tear drops spangling his long lashes and his handsome face contorted into a mask of mortification and mortal terror.

A bomb fell almost directly overhead, the sound ripping through the shelter at a near deafening volume, and he threw his hand over his mouth to smother his scream. Teeth cut skin. Blood trickled down along his thin-boned wrist, staining his pale skin with crimson.

The next memory couldn’t have taken place very long after his time in the bomb shelter, as the hand he’d savaged in his fear was bond by gauze as he stood outside the front door of a handsome manor house, face carved from stone and hand gripping a wand which did not belong to him.

Dark purpose glittered in his eyes as he reached out and pushed open the front door. Stepping into the richly furnished parlor just beyond and starting up the stairs. Silently ascending them and prowling down the hallway like a hunting cat, ears cuing in on the voices issuing from behind a closed door.

He flung it open; it hit the opposite wall with a bang and revealed the three Muggles on the other side who, it appeared, had just sat down to eat. The youngest of the three, a man who bore a shocking resemblance to Tom, leapt to his feet. Face slack in surprise. Eyes portraying a glimmer of recognition.

Tom hesitated. His desire to destroy ebbing away to be replaced with unwilling hope. Maybe his father hadn’t known he had a son. Maybe now that he knew, he’d want him. Maybe it didn’t matter that he was a Muggle. Maybe he didn’t have to go back to London and the Orphanage and the bombs ever again. Maybe he could actually have a family of his own.

Then the recognition turned to open hatred and his lips pulled back into a sneer.

“What are you doing here, mutt? You’re a freak, just like your devil of a mother and her disgusting family!”

Freak! Mud Blood! Demon! His fury returned with a white-hot vengeance and he raised the wand which he had stolen.

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

Harry’s vision was overwhelmed with vibrant, blinding acid green. By the time his eyes readjusted the image before him had changed yet again.

Something about the slightly off-par coloring and the odd fuzziness to the hard edges of everything around him led him to believe that he now stood in a memory of some manner of dream. Tom stood on the balcony of one of Hogwarts’ many towers looking down upon the sea of students which filled the courtyard below, ringed in by his Death Eaters, all bowing down before him. He observed, pleased, as the newest generation of deserving magical children-all Purebloods and Half-bloods-were inducted into a noble school united beneath a single house.

“My Lord?” it was his own voice, laced with suggestive amusement. Both he and Tom turned to look, the dark brunet smiling wolfishly and Harry simply staring in shock at the image of himself that had been dreamed up for the other’s envisioned future as Voldemort.

Slytherin’s locket gleamed against his chest, just as it did in the real world, but that was where the similarities ended. His dream-self was clad entirely in dragon-hide clothing which left almost nothing to the imagination and set the skull and serpent branded on his arm on full display. He sauntered forwards towards Tom, licking his lips suggestively and circling him. Looking him up and down.

“700 years since you took power, and now the days in which our people lived beneath the Statute of Secrecy are all but forgotten.” He reached out to trail the tips of his fingers over the other’s broad shoulders. “Everything, not just in Britain but in all of Europe and Asia, lies at your mercy. And soon, the rest of the world?”

“A few more decades. Perhaps another century.” Tom replied, watching him hungrily as he stopped in front of him again. Placing his hands on his chest, worrying teasingly at the buttons but not undoing any of them. “Might I ask why you’re not down with the others, seeing to settling the children in?”

“Why am I not with the others?” he repeated, hands sliding downwards as he dropped to his knees. “Because I am my Lord and Master’s most loyal servant, and feel that I can do much more for his benefit right here.”

Face burning, he stepped away from Tom the moment that the taller boy-looking somewhat embarrassed himself-broke their gaze.

“I felt that it was important for you to see that. The good, the bad, the painful and the…egotistical sexual fantasy which I am now anything but proud of.” Tom offered him a lopsided and apologetic smile. “Rest assured, that’s not what I fantasize about anymore.”

“What do you fantasize about, then?” Harry wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“What do I fantasize about now?” he asked. “Growing old with you.”

“You-?”

Tom nodded, reaching out to touch his face again. Smiling softly as he did so. “I’m not sure if I’ve said it before, and if I have I doubt that I said it as clearly and obviously as I should have and need to. But I must make sure you know. I love you, Harry James Potter. I am _in love_ with you.”

The touch of his soft lips was familiar to him, by now. The kiss was gentle, not meant to go beyond pure and innocent affection, but some part of the raven which he couldn’t be bothered to spare the time to examine prompted him to cling onto the other boy and pull him closer.

“Eager, love.” Tom chuckled. When he kissed him again, it was distinctly different than before; the tip of his tongue, warm and wet, ran gently over the contours of his lower lip before slipping inside.

Harry had been kissed once before, by Cho, but _this_ was different. The gloved hand on his cheek moved to cup the back of his neck and maneuver his head carefully into a better position while the other gently gripped his hip and pulled him closer. The fleshy, agile muscle exploring the roof of his mouth and stroking the sides before coaxing his own into a battle for control. It was a decisive loss, he hadn’t stood a chance to begin with and a part of him had known that, but he hardly cared that he’d been forced into submission or that the other now had uninhibited access to plunder the newfound territory as he pleased.

He held onto him, content to drown in his taste and his warmth until the need to breathe became too much to ignore. When Tom pulled back both of them were panting, their mouths connected by a thin silver strand, and each suffered from an identical newfound and really rather embarrassing problem.

Tom rested his forehead against Harry’s, still holding him close against his chest.

“We don’t have to do this, Harry.” He said, doing an admirable job of keeping the reluctance out of his voice. “If you’d rather wait, I understand. We can go back to the Burrow, now, and-.”

“The Leaky Cauldron.”

Tom pulled back slightly, allowing Harry to see the confusion written across his defined features. “I’m sorry?”

“The Leaky Cauldron.” He repeated. “We can get a room there for the night fairly cheaply, and the owner isn’t warranted to ask too many questions though it may be best that you book the room for us considering how recognizable I am.”

“The Leaky Cauldron it is. Hold on.”

Another moment of crushing sudden darkness later and they found themselves standing in the cold street directly outside of the wizarding inn. Harry passed Tom a few of the coins on his person and the two entered the establishment.

Tom approached the owner-also named Tom, coincidentally-and after a brief explanation and exchange of coin, received a key.

“Room 24, my darling.” He jangled the key at him, smirking, as he walked passed him and head up the stairs. Harry followed him.

Tom fitted the key into the door and pushed it open, allowing them both into a clean and well-kept room. A small fire burned in the hearth and the warm air smelled of pumpkin and cinnamon. The dark brunet freed himself from his winter wear with industrial efficiency, draping his coat and scarf over a chair before crossing the room to turn off the light. Harry did the same, leaving his own coat and scarf on another chair and then going to join Tom on the bed.

“I know you’re nervous, love.” He said. “The first time is always the hardest.”

“I’ve faced down death more times in 16 years than most people have to in their entire lives. I can hardly allow myself to be frightened off by something like this.”

“Harry, you don’t have to prove anything.” He said soothingly. “If you’re not ready, we can wait. War aside, there’s no reason to rush into doing something you don’t want-.”

“What I _want,_ Thomas Marvolo Riddle, is for you to shut up and kiss me!”

He chuckled at him and shook his head. “As you wish, my love.”

His long fingers anchored themselves in his black hair and drew him in close. Their kiss escalating rapidly. Teeth clicking. Tongues clashing. A trickle of drool made its way unnoticed down his chin as he was overpowered once again. Tom raided his mouth without much further opposition, stealing his breath away and painting his face with a flush of color which had nothing to do with embarrassment.

When he pulled back to let him breathe he latched onto the corner of his mouth instead. Kissing along the curve of his jaw. Tracing the shell of his ear with his tongue. Biting down on his neck with just shy of enough force to draw blood.

A low moan ripped out of him before he could stop it. Hot breath fanned across his skin as Tom laughed, raising gooseflesh in its wake, and then soothed the sting with a wet pass of his sinfully talented tongue. He let his head drop to the side, giving the other better access to his throat. A fact which the dark brunet took full advantage of, trailing purple-black bites across every inch that he could reach of his neck and shoulders and collarbone. Marking him. Claiming him.

When the semi-oversized sweater could stretch no further and came to bar his way the taller boy let out an almost Leonean growl and ripped it over his head. Harry barely had the time to register the cold shock of the metal locket bouncing against his chest before Tom attached himself to one of the small fleshy buds, rolling the other between nimble fingers.

His back bowed, another less than dignified sound falling from unresisting lips, and one of the other’s strong arms wound around him. Holding his body in that position and attacking his stomach. Licking and sucking. Tasting the skin and leaving another liberal spattering of love-bites behind. Tracing a warm wet trail from his navel to the button of his jeans.

Harry reacted before Tom could, catching hold of his turtle neck and yanking it mostly unsuccessfully over his head.

“Too many clothes!”

Tom released him with an amused sound, allowing his body to drop back onto the mattress, and reached up to remove the fabric which had become tangled around his head and upper arms.

“So your solution was attempting to strangle me with my shirt in revenge?” he snickered, succeeding in freeing himself and examining Harry’s flushed face and kiss-bruised lips. He tossed his shirt away as the raven beneath him ran his hands over the topography of muscles and scars which made up his chest and stomach as if attempting to memorize its surface. “Seems rather counterproductive, considering it would leave you to deal with this,” he ghosted his touch over the cloth-covered bulge, making the smaller male mewl softly, “on your own.”

“You don’t seem to be doing much to ‘help me’ either, Tom!”

“Typical rash Gryffindor that you are, love, you’ve spoken far too soon.” He popped the button with practiced ease and pulled the zipper down. “And, I promise you, you’re going to enjoy this. Eloquent speech isn’t all my mouth is good for.”

He pulled his jeans down around his ankles with a single sharp tug, snapping him playfully with the waistband of his boxers and earning himself a pointed glare.

“Oh, come now Precious. No need to rush. It makes for a far more enjoyable experience if you…savor it.”

Another sharp tug saw the raven entirely unclothed but for the gold and emerald locket. Dark blue eyes devoured his splayed form and, quite suddenly, Harry found himself aflame with embarrassment. He looked away swiftly.

“Don’t be shy, darling. You’re beautiful.” Tom purred, kissing and nipping his way up the insides of pale thighs. “You’ll forget all about your diffidence in another few seconds more.”

Satisfied with all of the marks that he’d left behind across the porcelain skin he moved on to his ultimate target. Dragging his tongue playfully along the bottom of his erect and reddened member. Tracing the dark blue vein. Mouthing at its base. Nipping gently at the smooth, sensitive flesh and reveling in the sounds which the raven struggled to contain.

He lost said struggle the instant Tom enclosed his pulsing flesh in warm wetness, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head. Chuckling at his whimpering and thrashing and sending vibrations juttering through him; piercing to his very core.

Tom pulled back, gathering what little of his release he hadn’t managed to catch with his fingers from where it had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Committing the sight of him-sweaty disheveled and debauched, green eyes glassy and chest heaving-to memory.

“Poor darling, we’re not done yet. Do you feel good?” he could only nod, not yet recovered to the point where he could string together a coherent sentence. “You’ll feel even better in a few minutes more. Though I’ll have to be careful with you this time around: we can’t afford for you to have too much trouble walking tomorrow now can we?” he chuckled, dipping too fingers passed wet parted lips; Harry could taste himself on Tom’s skin, salty and bitter. With a vague understanding of what the other expected of him, he coiled his tongue around each of them in turn. Coating them liberally in a layer of saliva. “Good boy.” Tom pulled his hand back. “Now, just try to relax as much as possible. It’s going to feel a bit odd at first, perhaps even pinch a little, but if I don’t prepare you it’s going to hurt.”

Odd indeed. Harry jolted slightly in surprise when one of the long narrow digits pressed against him, breaching the tight ring of muscle and beginning efforts to loosen and stretch.

“Shh. Just lay back, love. I know what I’m doing.” He waited until Harry had lain back again to resume his activities. Adding a second finger. Then a third. Then beginning to scissor them, stretching him further.

Quite suddenly and almost out of nowhere a bolt of pleasure shot through him which curled his toes.

“Ah, there it is.” Tom grinned and pressed down again, mercilessly keeping the pressure against the bundle of nerves and watching him whimper whine and writhe for a while before releasing him. Smirking as Harry collapsed back against the sheets.

“Ready, darling?” he asked, draping the raven’s legs over his shoulders. “This is your last chance if you want to back out.”

“Do I look like I want to back out?”

“Still able to speak in discernable sentences?” Tom huffed. “My word, I really need to step up my game.”

He pressed against him. Breaching his body with something considerably larger than his fingers had been and slowly pushing forwards until he was buried up to the hilt, hips settled snuggly between his narrow thighs. Tears pricked the corners of his green eyes at the sharp pinch, not quite painful but bordering dangerously close. His chest rose and fell against Tom’s as he struggled to even out his breathing. The dark brunet’s curls brushed against his cheek and he could hear his breath in his ears, shuddering slightly as he fought against his own urges to remain completely still.

“I’m not going to move until you tell me that you’re ready.” He said softly, voice almost inaudible despite their close proximity.

“I’m alright.” He wrapped his arms around the larger male’s broad shoulders to hold him closer. “Move, Tom.”

He pulled out almost completely before snapping his hips forwards, the pinch sharpening as he drove deeper. Harry tucked his face into the crook of Tom’s neck, not wanting the other boy to see the signs of his pain and feel the need to stop, but he could feel the wetness of tears against his skin. Frowning, he changed his angle somewhat before driving down again and managing to relocate the sensitive bundle of nerves.

His vision flashed white and his teeth sank into Tom’s shoulder. The dark brunet let out a feral sounding snarl and increased his pace making the raven bite down harder and scratch bleeding furrows over his shoulder blades and down his back. His spine arched, pressing his chest against the other’s more muscular one, their hearts thudding in tandem as Tom reclaimed his mouth. Nipping at his lips. Sucking on his tongue. Clutching him tightly as if afraid he might suddenly disappear.

In retrospect they should have thought to cast a silencing charm on the room, because Harry was all but certain the scream he produced when he painted both their stomachs with white woke up the entire floor.

Tom didn’t last for very long after the raven’s walls tightened around him, spilling white fire into his body before pulling out and collapsing beside him. Harry wasted no time in curling into his form, resting his head on the other’s chest and sighing in contentment when Tom’s long arms wound protectively around him.

“We’ll sleep here a few hours, Precious, before heading back to the Burrow. It wouldn’t do for them to discover that we snuck out.”

But at that moment Harry had no desire to think about the real world outside their room; he was happy to forget about the war and hunting Horcruxes and Voldemort and just focus on reveling in the gentle touch of Tom’s fingers carding through his sweat soaked raven hair, the intimacy of skin to skin contact and the newly manifest feelings of completion which had nothing to do with sexual release.


	27. Red Touches Yellow

Harry could only thank his lucky stars that Tom had been mostly willing to lend him one of his turtlenecks the morning after and that the twins had been in a fairly generous mood, dropping only the occasional comment about ‘being unnaturally quiet while having fun’ as well as a few quips regarding Muggle vacuum cleaners over the next few days. And aside from a visit by Ruffus Scrimgor-the new Minister of Magic-which had forced Tom to hide in Mr.Weasley’s shed and left Harry in a rather foul mood for quite a while afterwards the rest of the break had gone very well.

Luckily the bruises had now mostly faded away. Now the Weasley Clan, Harry, Tom, Hermoine and the three Order Members who Tom had christened the ‘Azkaban Guard’ were at King’s Cross station making their way through the crowds of Muggles towards the entrance of Platform 9 ¾. Harry, Hermoine, Ron and Ginny were all struggling against the weight of their carts while Tom-of legal age since the end of the year and with only a trunk to worry about-had merely shrunk his belongings and slipped them into the pocket of his as of yet unmarked black robes which Dumbledore had had sent to him over the holidays.

Due to Nagini’s presence, coiled tight around his shoulders, the tide of people surrounding them were all too happy to spare the dark brunet a wide berth as he approached and to stare after him once he’d passed.

“This is your first time on the Hogwarts Express, since you’re a transfer student. The entrance to the platform is hidden inside of a pillar.” Hermoine told Tom kindly. Despite being well aware of that fact he flashed a grateful smile in return. “Just run straight at the pillar; it’s always strange the first time around.”

“Hermoine, he grew up around magic.” Ron reminded her. “I’m sure that he’s encountered something like the entrance to the platform of the Hogwarts Express before. Haven’t you, mate?”

“From time to time. I appreciate what she was trying to do, though.”

“Alright, enough chitchat; hurry up. We can’t afford for any of you to miss the bloody train!” Mad-Eye barked at them, shoving Tom forwards through the fake pillar after Tonks without much warning to speak of. Ron and Hermoine followed, with Harry and Ginny bringing up the rear.

The steam engine wheezed and huffed out a cloud of silver steam. Hogwarts students of all ages and Houses and their families crowded the platform, the cold air split by the sounds of farewells, cats meowing, toads croaking, owls hooting and younger siblings voicing their displeasure at having to stay behind. The dependable familiarity of it all was near enough to pull a smile onto his face, until he looked around and realized that Tom had disappeared.

Not bothering to wait until anyone else noticed and raised the alarm, likely under the impression that he’d run off to do something nefarious like murder the first Muggle Born student he could get his hands on and then proceed to blow up the train, Harry quickly struck out to track him down himself.

He pushed his cart along through the crush of people, scanning the crowd for any hints of the other boy’s familiar form. A small stampede of Hufflepuff first years ran by, rushing to get onto the train and secure a cabin for themselves. A Gryffindor fourth year he didn’t immediately recognize called out to him; on reflex, he responded with a wave. A pair of Ravenclaw girls-though he wasn’t sure, he thought that they may have been friends of Cho-watched him pass, whispering amongst themselves.

Slytherin colors came in the form of the tie of Draco Malfoy, which Tom had wound flirtatiously around his long fingers to pull the shorter blonde up and closer. He was smirking. Saying something that the raven couldn’t hear though, from the look on Draco’s face, was quite explicit and suggestive. Grin going from lascivious to mocking, he pushed him away and released his tie-sending him stumbling with a look of disgruntled shock-and turned towards him with open arms.

“Ah, _there’s_ my Horntail!” To Harry’s confusion and surprise, the dark brunet draped himself over his shoulders like an over affectionate feline and nipped at the shell of his ear. “Come now, darling. Shall we find a compartment together for a bit of,” he stuck his tongue out at the now fuming blonde, “privacy?”

Tom pulled him away before he could even attempt to formulate a response.

“What was _that_?” Harry demanded once he’d finally regained the ability to speak. He didn’t know quite what it was that he’d seen, let alone how he should feel about it.

“Slytherins are defined by cunning guile and self-preservation, this all know. But what most don’t is that we all have a streak of hedonism in us too; I needed to see which way his went.” Tom replied. “You’re worried about the reasoning behind his reported odd behavior and fear that he may have become a Death Eater. A Death Eater bears the Dark Mark. It’s difficult to hide said mark under clothes when you’re not wearing any. If you’d like me to find proof, I can.”

“By seducing him?”

“It’s only sex.”

“It’s Draco Malfoy.”

“If it helps, I’d be imagining you at the time.”

“No.” Tom tilted his head to the side in a silent request for information. “I’m not comfortable with it, Tom.”

“Because there’s no honor in manipulating someone in such a way?”

“It has absolutely nothing to do with Gryffindor values!” Harry fidgeted with the fraying fringe of the left handle of his cart. “It’s just…you’re mine.”

“So that’s what this is about?” the raven tried to speed his pace and get away from him but Tom easily cut him off and caught hold of him. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, love, I won’t do it. We’ll find some other way to get to the bottom of matters. Alright?”

“ _Get a room!”_ Harry couldn’t tell precisely where the voice had come from but given the high-pitched harpy shriek he’d have been more than willing to put his money on the fact that Pansy Parkinson was responsible. “ _Didn’t know that that was the way you swung, Potty!”_ She cackled wildly and darted off with two other Slytherin girls chanting “ _Potty’s got a boyfriend!”_ at the top of her lungs.

“Merlin, Snake House has gone downhill considerably since my time, hasn’t it?”

Harry shook his head and stepped up into the nearest entrance of the train. “Believe me, Tom, you have no idea.”

“I have the feeling that I’ll be developing one soon.” He replied, following after him.

“ _You’ll have to whip all of them into shape when you return to Snake House, Master.”_ Nagini hissed, burrowing a bit further down into his scarf. “ _They behave like petty hatchlings and offend the noble banner of Slytherin.”_

“House pride has, admittedly, decreased since the ‘40’s.” Harry agreed, peering through the windows of the compartments that they passed in search of Ron and Hermoine. “For the most part it’s a good thing; the Houses intermingle more now than they used to and are, usually, friendlier.”

“Aside from Gryffindor and Slytherin?”

“Aside from Gryffindor and Slytherin.” He said. “The feud hasn’t gone away.” The next compartment was filled with Ravenclaws, one of whom was Luna; she caught sight of him through the window and waved. “You’re really so certain that you’ll end up back in Slytherin, Tom?”

“Why would I end up anywhere else, Harry? The bloody Hat didn’t even bother to examine me properly last time; sorted me on merit of bloodline alone.” Tom grumbled. “Why would this time around be different?”

The raven shrugged. “Which House would you be in, if you could choose?”

“I’m not saying that I don’t belong in Snake House, Harry.”

“I’m not asking which House you feel that you belong in, I’m asking which one you’d _choose_ to be in.”

“…” Tom huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Though Hecate knows I look _awful_ in red, I’d want to be in Lion House.”

“Gryffindor?” Harry repeated, quite honestly shocked. That had been the last answer that he’d expected. “Really? Why?”

“Because Lion House is your House. And, I’ll admit, I enjoyed being able to look over in the night and see you lying in the bed beside me.”

“So you _did_ watch me sleep!”

“From time to time.”

“Have you no shame, Tom?”

“Absolutely none.” He replied. “Though I thought you knew that.”

Harry chose not to answer as, in that moment, he’d succeeded in locating the correct compartment and pulled open the door. Ron and Hermoine both looked up as they entered, Harry still lugging his trunk and Hedwig’s cage behind him.

“Harry! There you are!”

“Where were the two of you, mate? Mad-Eye threw a fit!”

“I was off rattling the cage of the resident Dragon.” Tom replied rather flippantly, helping Harry lift his trunk into the overhead compartment before setting his own down and resizing it with a flick of his wand. “Harry got worried and came to check on me. Seems my games made my raven a bit jealous.”

“Because you were _flirting_ with _Draco Malfoy!”_

“Flirting?” Tom repeated, sounding scandalized. “Please, darling! Blondes aren’t my type. I was merely setting things up for you to rub your spectacular fortune in his ferrety face.”

Ron let out a loud and rather embarrassing snort and Hermoine couldn’t quite keep a straight expression. Despite his annoyance with the subject, Harry couldn’t help but smile. Tom took a seat beside the window and pulled him close against him, running his fingers through his short raven hair.

“But we were talking about my reasoning for being sure that I’d never land in Lion House?”

“We were.”

“Simple. I can be loyal, and chivalrous and brave when such behaviors prove themselves essential means to my ends but I am not and will never be possessed of honor. I don’t _believe_ in honor; in my mind all that honor gets you, especially when extended to one’s enemies in a time of war, is killed.” He told him. “I am not the type willing to lay down my life for others. You’re an exception of course-I’d take a Killing Curse for you, love-but anyone else? I’d sooner use them as a meat shield.”

“Well, cynicality aside at least you’re honest.” Hermoine said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Please don’t jump in front of a Killing Curse meant for me, or anyone else for that matter.” Harry said. “I’ve already lost enough people to that behavior.”

“I feel that I need to be honest darling, and say that I would rather have you mourning me and alive than dead when I could have done something to protect you.” Tom replied, resting the side of his head against the window. “Not to mention that your being around is about my only motivation not to go ‘full-Dark’, if you will.”

“Full-Dark?” Hermoine repeated, the tone of her voice making Harry cringe. “You’ve studied Dark Magic?”

“It’s typical of Old Pureblood families to teach their children magics which most officials today consider less than savory. It was the way my Mother was raised and it in turn was the way that she raised me.” Tom replied, doing an admirable job of standing up to her full-blast Prefect glare. “Not all Dark Magic is evil. In fact, most of it isn’t. Dumbledore himself would tell you that. And I know you’re aware of such, what with all the books you’ve read.”

“Dark Magic on its own may not be evil, but it’s widely considered so due to the actions typical of its practitioners.”

“Hence my point about Precious being my ‘moral anchor’. Without him, it’s off the leash for me and, well…most of my ‘evil deeds’ would be centered around burning the world down in a furious search for the likely responsible party: the Snake-faced Git.”

“Oh, come off it Hermoine. He seems rather put together to me.” Ron snickered.

“I…Harry, really?”

“I’m not a raving lunatic. As you can clearly see.” He drawled. “Did you really think that I’d be allowed to run around practicing the Dark Arts at my leisure under the watch of your current Head Master? Did you think that he’d even let me _near_ Hogwarts if that were the case?”

“Well, I suppose you make a rather good point with that.” Hermoine relented after another moment. “But, I’ll warn you regardless, that Ron and I are both Prefects and if either of us catch you doing something unwarrantedly off-color-.”

“I’m not in the slightest afraid of detention. I am, however, mortally terrified of being booted out of the proverbial bedroom so you can be certain that I’ll behave.”

The whistle sounded faintly from outside and the train shuddered before it began to move out of the station. Tom rose from his seat and searched through his trunk before pulling free the copy of _Aeneid_ which Harry had gifted him before settling himself back beside the window.

Glad that there former conversation had come to an end; he stretched himself comfortably across the remainder of the bench and settled his head on Tom’s lap.

“Taking a nap, are we?”

“Might as well. We won’t be back at the castle for seven hours.”

“I’ll wake you up when the trolley comes by.” The dark brunet became absorbed in the book in his hands not long after, petting his hair as he did so with his free hand. Harry drifted into a state of half-sleep quite quickly beneath the sway of both Tom’s gentle touches and the rocking of the train. He heard Hermoine begin chattering about something interesting she’d picked up in one of her last Arithmancy classes before brake though exactly who she was talking to he wasn’t quite sure. A little while after that, tapping at the window led her to snap at Ron regarding Lavender.

He was jolted fully back to awareness when Tom jumped and curled himself over to hide his face in the pages of his book as the door to the compartment trundled open. Sitting up in confusion and pushing his glasses back onto his face, he quickly located the reason behind his reaction.

“Professor Slughorn?”

“Harry, my boy!” The Potion’s Master boomed, smiling at him brightly. “Do excuse the interruption. I had heard that you’d come back from your studies abroad in Eastern Europe but had to see for myself if it was true. How was it?”

“Oh, uh…informative, Sir.” What more could he say?

“And this is the exchange student that I’ve heard about from Albus?” Tom all but pressed his face into the pages. “Bit of a bookworm, isn’t he? Rather shy.”

“He was homeschooled before now, Sir. It’s a bit overwhelming for him to suddenly be going to a school as large as Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I can imagine. Especially in sixth year. Though, if what I hear about his marks are true, he’ll fit right in quite quickly. As a matter of fact I’d be surprised if he isn’t sorted into Ravenclaw.” He chuckled. “You’ll be attending my next event, won’t you Harry?”

“Of course, Professor. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Well, I’ll leave you all to get back to whatever it was the four of you were doing. Enjoy the rest of your ride.”

He edged carefully out of the compartment and turned himself around before making his way back down the narrow corridor.

“Wouldn’t miss it, would you?” Tom smirked at him from over the top of the book in his hands.

“Unless I have something more pressing to deal with.”

“Well,” he set the book aside and pulled Harry closer, “Consider your schedule soundly booked for the duration of the rest of the year.”

Ron cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Look mate, I can get behind who you’ve chosen to date but…could you maybe not start shagging in public?”

“Oh, he’s only kidding Harry!”

“Yes, poppet, you don’t need to hide.”

Harry didn’t remove his burning face from the crook of Tom’s neck until the trolley came by.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?”

A couple of Galleons later a pile of sweets had been scattered between them. Hermoine gave them a disapproving look while Ron tore into a pack of Pumpkin Pasties and Harry carefully opened a chocolate frog, mindful not to allow the confection to make a break for it. Tom busied himself with opening a pack of Pepper Imps.

“Tom!” The dark brunet nearly spilled his candy onto the floor. “Those are peppermint; don’t eat them.”

“Why?”

“You’re allergic.”

“I am?” he seemed genuinely confused. “Did I tell you that while we were playing Two Truths and a Lie? If so, I’m assuming it was the option that was the lie.”

“You two played Two Truths and a Lie?” Ron asked around a mouthful of Pastie. “Who won?”

“Harry. I’d never drank before and wound up completely out of my head; don’t even fully remember what happened that night.”

The rest of their journey to Hogwarts passed with friendly banter and more sweets. By the time they stepped out onto the Hogs-Meade platform darkness had fallen. Nagini had once again coiled herself around Tom’s torso to shield herself from the cold. Hedwig hooted in farewell as they headed towards the waiting carriages.

Catching sight of the skeletal horses which pulled them, Tom stopped.

“Thestrals.” He breathed, shocked. The lead horse tethered to the nearest carriage snorted into his hand as he stroked its nose gently. _“I had no idea these were at Hogwarts. In my time, we didn’t have the carriages.”_

“Hagrid tamed them; helped to breed the herd in the Forbidden Forest.” Harry told him as they clambered up into the same carriage as Ron and Hermoine. “We only learned about them last year, for our O.W.Ls.”

“You can see them too?”

Tom turned his head at the sound of the dreamy voice, eyes landing on Luna who was staring at him critically. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing the odd spectricals or any other strange articles of clothing advertised by her Father’s magazine.

“Not many people here can; it’s understandable, really, given what it takes to be able to.” She continued, not blinking. “Who was it? That died?”

“Oh, uh…my father.” It was obvious from the expression on his face and the fact that he was leaning just slightly away from her that Tom did not know quite what to think of her.

“This is Luna Lovegood, a friend of mine from Ravenclaw. She’s a year below ours.” Harry informed him a moment later. “And the one sitting beside her is Neville Longbottom. A Gryffindor from our year.”

“Nice to meet both of you. I’m Tom Gaunt, a transfer-.”

“You’ve a number of Wrackspurts around you, you know?” she said, leaning closer towards him. “Does your head feel fuzzy?”

“I’ve a number of…what?”

“Wrackspurts. They’re invisible flying creatures which infest the ears and affect one’s mental process. You need Spectricals in order to see them properly.”

“Spec…?” he tilted his head as the carriage began to move. “But you’re not wearing anything.”

“Not at the moment, no. But I have a great deal of experience with Wrackspurts; I’ve learned how to sense them without needing to see them.”

Tom looked over at him as if expecting an explanation but Harry simply shrugged. Luna seemed to lose interest in Tom rather abruptly, preferring to stare at a point just passed his head.

 “Hey, Harry,” Neville acted to change the subject while attempting to shield his Mimbulus Mimbltonia from the cold, “where did you come by that locket? It looks like it’s worth a fair bit.”

“Oh, this?” he fiddled briefly with the clasp. “Tom gave it to me this Christmas. As I understand, it was an heirloom of his family.”

“The emeralds match his eyes wonderfully.” He purred, happy to dismiss the strange blonde sitting across from them for the time being. “Besides, I delight in the irony of the Gryffindor Golden Boy wearing the locket of Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“That’s an item of one of the Hogwarts Four?” Luna’s attention had refocused on them again. “That’s very impressive. But quite a gift to give to a friend.”

“Oh, we’re _much_ more than friends.” Tom smirked at him, prompting Harry to roll his eyes.

“I thought so,” she smiled serenely. “You’re quite cute together.”

“…Thanks, Luna.”

“Really, Harry? I thought for sure that you’d end up with Ginny.” Neville both looked and sounded floored.

“I think Ginny thought that, too.” Hermoine cut in. “She doesn’t like him very much as a result.”

“Personally, I’m bloody glad he didn’t end up with my sister.” Ron said. “No offense, Harry, you’re my best mate after all but that’s just it. You’re my best mate and she’s my sister.”

“Got it, Ron. Thanks.”

The carriage pulled to a stop outside of the castle, allowing them out onto the stone steps amidst the tide of other students. Their little group had only just begun to head towards the doors when Professor McGonagall materialized beside them.

“Come with me, Mr. Gaunt, if you would please. You’ll be sorted after the Headmaster has given his recommencement speech.”

“To the dungeons, then.” He said with a sigh, reluctantly releasing his hold on the raven and moving to follow her. “I suppose I’ll see you in class, Harry.”

Spinning the ring on his hand around his finger, he followed her up the stairs and in through the front doors.

“Don’t think I haven’t recognized you, Mr. Riddle. I’ve been informed by the Headmaster that your presence is necessary, though for what reason I’ve no idea. Do not think for a moment that you won’t be-.”

“Closely monitored so that I don’t randomly and with absolutely no warning or reason fly into a fit of homicidal madness and start murdering ‘innocent’ people. Yes, I’m aware.” He replied sourly. “I’ve already promised to behave myself.”

“You’ll wait out here until you’re called.”

“Of course, Professor.”

She eyed him pointedly for a final time before Proceeding into the Great Hall. Tom waited just within the shadows of the doorway, watching proceedings and listening with only enough attention to catch his cue to enter.

“But, before we eat yet another delicious meal together, I must ask that you welcome a new member to our extended family living and working within this castle’s hallowed halls. Thomas Gaunt.”

 _Let’s just get this show over with._ He thought as he made his way down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. _Get me back in Slytherin green and set me up in the dungeons with a ten foot pole for use in keeping Malfoy and his band of merry idiots at bay._

With great grace and more than a little bit of annoyance Tom threw himself down onto the stool. Dumbledore dropped the Sorting Hat onto his head moments later.

_I’m surprised you actually bothered to be put on completely this time._

The Hat chuckled at him, making one of the small muscles in his face twitch. _It has been quite a while, Tom Riddle. And though I’ll admit that I perhaps didn’t examine you to the degree that I should have back then you and I both feel that I put you into the proper House at the time._

_Do we?_

_Of course, it seems that you have since undergone some changes and have left me with much to consider._

_Don’t draw this out!_

_I’ll keep things brief, then._ The Hat replied. _Slytherin is still, of course, a viable option though I no longer believe it would best serve you. After all, being surrounded by such attitudes could lead you to relapse into old behaviors._

_You call this brief?_

_You could wind up in Ravenclaw. You’ve the mind, and the wit. You’re well spoken. And not all of them are as mad as her._

_I’d rather not risk the ‘looney’ being contagious, thanks._

_Or I could put you in Hufflepuff, though admittedly that wouldn’t be the best fit. Your loyalty, though bottomless in its own regard, applies to one person and one person only. Not only that, but I share your unspoken sentiment regarding how you look in yellow._

**_Why you-!_ **

_In the end, I think it’s plain where you belong. After all, there’s nothing more courageous than admitting that your own long held beliefs are wrong. “ **Gryffindor!”**_

As the lapels of his robes turned a deep crimson and he rose from the stool, Tom was sure that the look on his face must have been priceless. Likely a good mix of shock and confusion, perhaps accompanied by a touch of reflexive horror as he stumbled towards the raucously clapping gold and scarlet table.

At least they were more welcoming in Lion House than Snake House had been initially.

“Pinch me,” he said as he claimed a seat between Ron and Harry, “I think I’m having a nightmare.”

Ron punched him lightly in the arm as Harry pushed the nearest platter of food towards him.

“Just eat. You’ll get over the shock of it faster.”

“Seems that your predictions were wrong, Tom.” Hermoine noted from Tom’s other side. “Welcome to Gryffindor.”

“The Heir of Slytherin, sorted into Lion House.” Ron shook his head. “Salazar Slytherin must be turning in his grave.”

“Considering that I’m a half-blood, I think he’s already gotten all of the ‘turning’ out of his system.” He shoveled a fork-full of herb roasted potatoes into his mouth. “Do you think I need to worry about my bloodline presenting a problem, what with the feud between the Houses?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” This time. Harry could still distinctly remember Tom’s insistence that he wasn’t welcome in Gryffindor tower. “The feud isn’t as bad as it was.”

“That’s good to know, I suppose.” He said. “That I’ll be able to peacefully-.”

“No one said anything about peaceful, mate. The entire House is going to be holding you under a magnifying charm for at least a couple of weeks; you _are_ the ‘new toy’.” Ron grabbed a platter of steak and kidney pie and shoveled a massive piece onto Tom’s still quite full plate. “Eat. You’re going to need the energy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to whomever can properly guess what, aside from Gryffindor colors, the chapter title alludes to. Answer will be posted in the notes at the end of the next chapter.


	28. The Case of the Missing Mandrake Leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Correct Answer: the adage identifying a Coral Snake  
> Congrats to Dragon_Faeries, PheonixBlack, Lara, SagaByakuya and Amanda who all got it correct.
> 
> On a more unfortunate note I am having sudden computer issues with both Microsoft Edge and Google Chrome. I am on Internet Explorer now as a last resort but if that goes out to I'll have to take my laptop in and that may lead to a couple of day delay in updates.

The snow which had fallen thick across the grounds had crusted over with ice, courtesy of the plummeting morning temperature, and resisted puncture by his Dragon-hide boots with crisp crunching sounds. Breath rising in silver clouds, Tom wrapped his red and gold scarf tighter around his neck and sped his pace down the stone stairs of the castle and out across the grounds towards the Herbology greenhouses. He crouched low once he reached the first in the line of seven large, glass sided buildings to shelter from the wind and catch his breath before darting quickly past one and two.

 _If I remember correctly,_ he rose slowly and carefully pulled up one of the glass panels used to give the plants fresh air during the warmer months, _what I’m looking for is grown right here in greenhouse three._

Once the panel was fully open, he pulled himself up over the rim and dropped down onto the packed dirt ground below. Not wanting to risk damaging any of the surrounding magical plants by allowing them to fall victim to frostbite, he quickly shut the panel behind him. The air inside of greenhouse three was hot and damp and smelled of rich loamy soil, decaying compost and Dragon manure. His blue eyes swiftly scanned the area, confirming first that he was safely alone and second that he was indeed in the right place.

Quickly and with a careful mind to give a wide berth to the Venomous Tentacula, he quickly crossed to the far wall and pulled down a pair of earmuffs which hung there, securing them tightly over his ears.

_I only need one leaf, but I’ll take three just to be sure._

After a late and fairly wild night in which Tom had been inducted as a ‘true member’ of Lion House, Harry had expected the dark brunette to at least still be in the dorm if not asleep so when he woke up to find Nagini coiled up on his chest and the bed beside him, which the other boys had taken great pleasure in making a show of vacating for Tom, empty he was both confused and mildly concerned.

“ _Nagini?”_ The serpent opened one eye to look at him. “ _Where is Tom? How long has he been gone?”_

“ _Master left perhaps 30 minutes ago_.” She told him. “ _He did not allude to where he was going, but told me to let you know that he will likely miss breakfast.”_

“Blimey, Harry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you speak to snakes.” Fumbling for his glasses and slipping them on, Harry saw Dean staring at him from where he stood beside his own bunk.

“Oh, come off it Thomas! Or was what happened in second year not enough to prove to you that Harry is not some Dark Wizard out to take over from You-Know-Who once he defeats him.” Ron grumbled sorely.

“He didn’t mean it that way, Weasley. It’s just a bit to have to get used to since he doesn’t do it often.” Seamus piped up from where he stood straightening his robes.

“Well, we’re going to have to aren’t we, now that Tom is here. He’s a Parselmouth, too; that’s his snake.”

“The Heir of Slytherin, a Gryffindor? Hard to believe.” Seamus shook his head, then smirked. “Well, at least we won’t have to worry about their dirty talking making anyone else sick; they can just verbally shag each other in Parseltongue.”

“We’re a bit more private than that, thanks.” Harry said, pulling on the new jumper Mrs. Weasley had knit for him that year over a long sleeved shirt. _At least, I am._ He briefly considered leaving the locket behind on the bedside table, knowing it would remain safe due to Tom’s impeccable charm work, but ultimately decided to keep it with him. Letting the heavy clasp rest against his chest between his shirt and jumper as he pulled on his robe and shoes. Dean and Seamus, laughing raucously and continuing their conversation about his and Tom’s relationship, headed down the dorm room stairs.

_“Take me down with you to breakfast, please. I wish to get out for a while before I have to remain in the dorm for most of the day, and as Master is gone…”_

_“Alright. Come on.”_ Harry ignored the odd look which Ron sent him and allowed Nagini to pull herself up onto his shoulders, trying not to think too much about the reactions showing up to breakfast with a snake wrapped around him like a scarf was warranted to cause. “Ready, Ron?”

“Oh, yeah. We should probably head down to meet Hermoine in the dorms before she heads down to breakfast without us.” He hurried down the stairs ahead of him.

“ _I make them so nervous simply by being present.”_

“ _People tend to associate snakes with Dark Magic. Especially with Voldemort in power.”_ Harry started down the stairs after the other boys _. “Don’t take it personally.”_

_“I don’t.”_

_“They’ll get used you, provided you don’t bite anyone.”_

_“I’ll only bite them if they deserve it.”_

“Harry, there you are! We’re bordering on being late!” Hermoine called from beside the portrait hole the moment she caught sight of him. Moments later, her eyes fell on Nagini. “You’re bringing Tom’s snake with you?”

“She’s going to be stuck in the dorms all day while we’re in class so can you blame her for wanting to get out?”

She stared at him a few moments further before sighing. “Alright. Just don’t let her slither off somewhere and cause a panic; McGonagall will kill both you and Tom if that happens.”

 _“I’ve no desire to touch the Great Hall’s floor in winter. It’s cold_.”

“She promises that she’ll behave.” Harry said, following his friends out of the portrait hole.

Draco was waiting outside of the doors, flanked by Crab and Goyle, and started forwards towards them but he’d only taken a few steps before he caught sight of Nagini and promptly turned tail to head back to the Great Hall.

“Looks like even the Snakes are afraid of Gaunt’s Snake.” Ron snickered as they entered the hall and headed towards the Gryffindor table, his earlier wariness of Nagini forgotten for the time being. “Maybe she isn’t so bad after all, if she’s such a strong charm against Prats.”

“Charm against Prats?” Harry repeated with a snort, taking a seat at the bench. “Her Master’s the King of the Prats.”

“That’s no way to talk about your boyfriend, Harry.” Hermoine admonished, though she looked notably amused. “I thought you two had a good relationship.”

“We do, Hermoine. I say it as a term of endearment.”

“Sure you do, mate.” Ron said around the massive forkful of Eggs Benedict he’d shoved into his mouth.

Nagini seemed content to remain silent for the time being, busying herself with scoping out the Gryffindor table from her position astride Harry shoulders. Occasionally extending herself up to peer out across the room towards one of the other three House tables or to cast an appraising eye towards the staff table. Harry ignored the awed and slightly fearful stares that many of the first years were sending his way at the sight of the ‘vicious animal’ happily using him as a perch as well as the worried and somewhat pointed looks which Ginny was shooting at him in favor of resuming conversation with his closest friends.

“Have either of you seen Neville?” He asked. “He wasn’t in the dorm room when Ron and I woke up.”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Hermoine said. “He wasn’t in the common room. I’d assumed he’d been one of the first to head down to breakfast, but since he isn’t here… I’ve no idea. Though I notice Tom’s not here either. Still asleep after last night?”

He shook his head. “No. He was gone, too, when we woke up.” Harry told her. “I assume that he’s exploring the Castle; Nagini told me he left half an hour before I got up and said that he’d be missing breakfast.”

“Oh, I hope he hasn’t gotten himself lost; if he really wanted a tour so badly he should’ve said something to me. I’m a Prefect for our House. I’d have been happy to miss breakfast and help him.”

“Don’t take it personally, Hermoine.” Harry assured her. “He’s an independent person by nature.”

Harry knew for a fact that exploring the Castle was _not_ what the dark brunette was up to, though what he was really doing he didn’t have the slightest clue.

“Well, I hope he can find his way to Hagrid’s on time. Our first class of the day is Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Frankly, Harry was more worried about the fallout of whatever the other boy was potentially up to now rather than their House losing points to him being late. Which wasn’t likely, given that Hagrid was their teacher. “Tom is like a snake; he can take care of himself.”

Breakfast came to an end not long after that and the trio returned to the common room. Harry set Nagini down on Tom’s bed, retrieved his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ from his trunk and rejoined Ron and Hermoine at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. Still no sign of Tom or Neville.

“Well, maybe he’s already down at Hagrid’s.” Hermoine suggested.

“At least we don’t have to worry about losing points if he is late.” Ron said as they left the Castle through the front doors. “Hagrid would never take points from Gryffindor. And he doesn’t usually give out detentions either.”

“Not that I need to worry about detention or losing points for our House even if he was prone to docking them seeing as I’ll be arriving to class at the same time the three of you are.”

Tom, with Neville beside him, trotted up to them with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. Frost had gathered across his shoulders.

“Where were you this morning?” Harry asked as Tom draped his arm around his shoulders again. “Nagini said that you left half an hour before anyone else was awake.”

“I went up to the library to do a bit of reading. Late night aside, you know that I don’t require the same amount of sleep as a typical person.”

“You went up to the library?” He repeated. “Then why are you covered in frost?”

“I didn’t say that I was there the whole time, love. So suspicious, acting like I’m up to no good.” He simpered, pouting at him. The raven rolled his eyes. “I went for a walk to get a bit of fresh air. Ran into Neville on the way over; we both had the same class so we figured we may as well make the remainder of the journey together.”

“Why weren’t you at breakfast, Neville?” Hermoine asked.

“I was in greenhouse three, helping Professor Sprout repair some of the Mandrakes; something got in and ripped up their leaves pretty badly.” He said. “She thinks it might have been Flesh-eating Slugs or a Dugbog, but Dugbogs don’t eat the leaves. Personally, I think it was a student; to me it looked like the leaves were picked by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. I was just telling Tom about it.”

“I know that mature Mandrakes can be used to restore people who’ve been petrified-who could forget, after what happened during our second year-but who would want the leaves? What are they used for?” Harry asked.

“Keeping a Mandrake leaf under your tongue for a month is the first step in becoming an Animorphmagus.” Tom supplied before Hermoine could speak. “You then meditate periodically and, at the end of the month, drink a potion brewed with said leaf. Whoever took the leaf is likely attempting to become one illegally.”

“They would be sent to Azkaban if they got caught!”

“Indeed they would, but the usefulness of being able to transform into an animal at will outweighs the risks in the minds of many.” Tom said as they closed the last few yards separating them from Hagrid’s hut. “Personally, I think registering yourself at the Ministry takes a majority of the usefulness of the ability away.”

Reaching where the rest of the class had gathered in front of Hagrid beside his hut, they stopped.

“Harry!” Hagrid’s happy bellow was so loud that many of their classmates curiously turned to look. Tom flinched and frowned at the volume. “You _are_ back! How was it? And you brought the exchange student with you!”

“Hello, Hagrid.” He replied with a grin. “This is Tom Gaunt.”

“Nice to meet you, Professor.” Tom’s voice, though polite, was stiff. “Harry is told me many good things about you. As far as I can tell, you’re his favorite teacher.”

And odd expression-a mix of confusion and something else similar to what he would expect from a Muggle who’d just seen a ghost-passed across the half-giant’s heavily bearded face before it broke into a semi-off kilter smile.

“Course he did; my class is absolutely nothing like any other here! Good to have you join us, Tom.”

“Happy to be here, Sir.”

“Just call me Hagrid!” He said jovially, returning his attention to the group at large. “I’ve got a real treat for you all today; to kick off the new semester with a bang.”

From somewhere behind them, Harry heard Malfoy hiss “oh great” but ignored him.

“Got to head a ways into the Forbidden Forest to see them. Follow me.” Hagrid loped off into the trees, leaving his class to follow or be left behind. Tom sent him a questioning glance. Harry shrugged in return and the two started off after him, leaving the others who were slightly less willing.

The deeper that they went the darker the forest became until the canopy overhead was so thick that no traces of snow could be seen on the ground despite the cold. There was a rancid smell in the air, like decaying plant matter and stagnant water. Moments later, they arrived at the source. A sizable pond of reed-choked black water stretched before them, so thick with dark sediment that it was impossible to tell if it was three feet deep or thirty. A fallen tree, covered in moss and algae and with root clod still attached, lay partially submerged in the water.

“This is where they live; afraid of humans for the most part, though they can get playful with swimmers. Don’t know their own strength and kill people sometimes; they get a bad rap for it, you see.” Hagrid said, picking up a burlap sack and pulling a bushel of carrots. “Why don’t we have the new student to the honors of coaxing one out of hiding? Come here and take a carrot.”

                Tom sent a dubious sideways glance at the dark water before hesitantly breaking rank and walking up to Hagrid, accepting the vegetable reluctantly.

“Climb up onto that log, there, and hold the carrot by the leaves. Don’t actually touch the water; if you do, one of them might mistake your hand for a treat.”

Tom blanched slightly but marched himself determinedly over to the fallen tree regardless. As Harry watched his boyfriend haul himself up onto the moss-eaten trunk and teeter out to the end of its length he couldn’t help but be concerned. Hagrid meant well, but by this point in his life he knew full well that the half-giant’s definition of ‘harmless’ was a good deal different than that of most people.

The dark brunette was trembling slightly as he dangled the carrot just barely over the water, though whether it was from the winter chill or whatever was lurking under the pond’s dark service he couldn’t be sure. For a long while nothing happened, then the surface rippled and broke. The creature snorted, sending water flying, and shook out its seaweed-like mane. Its head was horse-like in shape but was covered in the large rounded slate gray scales of a carp. It’s narrow muzzle filled with jagged, gar-like teeth and a long black tongue snaked which out to take the carrot that Tom was all too happy to drop.

He stumbled backwards with a yelp of alarm, nearly toppling into the water as he did so, and only stopped retreating once he was back on solid ground. The creature followed him, more and more of its body becoming visible until it step down to land. It smelled even worse in the water it had come from. As tall and muscular as a Clydesdale and even more gaunt than a Thestral its entire body was covered in carp scales and a thin layer of slime. Its mane and tail fell in oily kelp-like strands. Its ears were frilled and fin-like and its feet were more reptilian than equine; webbed and clawed. The six gill slits down the side of its neck opened and closed, rippling as the animal snorted again and regarded Tom closely with pale blue eyes.

“Hagrid!” Hermoine sounded horrified. “Those _aren’t_ harmless!”

“Oh, come on Hermoine. They don’t mean to drown people, they’re only trying to play.” He said, smiling at the horse-fish which snapped its jagged teeth at Tom, causing him to retreat another step backwards. “As long as you don’t prod one into biting you and don’t try to ride one-they’re rather like centaurs in their pride-they won’t hurt you. Their XXXX rating is undeserved if you ask me. Can anyone tell me what this beautiful beast is?”

“A Kelpie.” Tom replied, seeming to regain a bit of bravery and edge a bit closer. “They’re native to Scotland and related to the Icelandic Ninnir and the Scandinavian Neck, but I had no idea any of them lived on the Castle’s grounds.”

“You’re exactly right, Tom! 50 points to Gryffindor!” Hagrid said happily as Tom reached out towards the Kelpie, which allowed him to lay his hand on its neck behind its gills. The water horse nibbled at his hair with an odd whistling sound. “That’s just what makes this little herd so unique; Kelpie remain in a pool only so long as it can support them. This herd only just settled here over the holiday break and since it is your N.E.W.T year I just had to show them to the lot of you! Now, everyone who wants to get closer to him, come and take a carrot. Approach him slowly; they’re shy creatures after all.”

Tom retreated from the Kelpie to allow those few others brave enough to want to approach to do so and returned to Harry’s side. Looking at his slime-coated hand in mild disgust before clearing it away with a pass of his wand.

“Interesting class indeed.” He said. “Has he ever shown you anything that _isn’t_ capable of death and mutilation?”

“We learned about Crups last year.” Harry replied. “And Flobber-worms. But only because he was on probation by the pink hag.” Tom’s eyes fell to the raven’s scarred hand at the mention of Harry’s least favorite teacher to date. “Personally, I’d rather have him showing us things like this. No matter how bad the Blast-ended Screwts were.”

The rest of the class passed without life-threatening incidents, though the Kelpie did snap at a few of Goyle’s fingers much to their shared amusement. When they finally exited the forest Tom paused beside the hut, allowing the other members of the class to pass them by. Harry himself nearly passed him before realizing the dark brunette was no longer beside him. He stopped and turned back just as Hagrid looked down.

“Something you need?”

“Need? No.” Tom said, his right hand picking at the manicured nails of his left and his face as rigid as a 2 x 4. “It’s just… I merely wish to… For what it’s worth… For what it may be worth, though I’m sure it’s next to nothing, I would like to offer you my most sincere apologies.”

“Apologies?” Hagrid repeated, but instead of answering Tom bolted up the hill like he’d been set on fire. Confused, he turned to Harry. “Bit off, that one.”

The Raven shrugged, glancing after the other boy who now awaited him halfway up the snowy hill. “Tom can be a little strange from time to time.”


	29. Up To Something

“Clearly my expectations regarding Potion’s Class were sorely misplaced.”

As they headed up to the Defense classroom from the Potion’s dungeon, Tom mulled over his first day of experiences with his new teachers. The usual smirk placed proudly on his pale lips.

“What do you mean, Tom?” Hermoine asked him as they waited for the moving staircase to pause on the proper floor. “He’s a bit ostentatious, sure, but overall I think he’s a fairly good teacher.”

“I’m not saying he’s not a good teacher.” He said. “I just thought his coursework would be a bit more difficult than it was. Considering how famous he is as a teacher in the subject.”

Harry shrugged in response.

“I don’t get you, mate.” Ron said, shaking his head. “You say the weirdest things.”

“Just the way my mind works, I suppose.” Tom replied. “Hagrid seemed like an interesting enough Professor.”

“He’s a fair bloke, yeah.”

“You confused him a good bit with that stunt which you pulled at the end of class.” Harry said.

“Stunt?” Hermoine repeated.

“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He said flippantly. “Darling, what are you looking so down for? I thought Defense Against the Dark Arts was your favorite subject.”

“It _was_ ,” Harry said, unable to quite help himself from dragging his feet. “Then Snape got the job; he used to be the Potion’s Master.”

“Severus Snape, the current head of Slytherin House?”

“He hated my father because of what he did to him as a school boy, and he’s hated me since the first day of school because I look like him.”

“Not to mention he’s a Death Eater.”

“ _Ronald_!” Hermoine swatted at him with her copy of _Confronting the Faceless_. “He _was_ a Death Eater, but is now a respected member of the Order of the Phoenix; you know better.”

“Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater.” Tom said softly as they dismounted the stairs. “Lord Voldemort is good at scrambling the already brittle minds of his followers, and once he has his claws in you he doesn’t let you go; you sell your soul when you take the Dark Mark.”

“Dumbledore trusts him.”

“And if Dumbledore were to tell you that You-Know-Who had reformed would you believe him?” Ron demanded.

“Oh, stop it! You know that would never happen!” Tom’s efforts to smother a snicker resulted in an entirely undignified snort. Harry couldn’t help but smile. “All three of you are horrible!”

She’s sped her pace and headed into the room ahead of them.

“I’ll never understand what she sees in him.” Ron grumbled as they followed her. “I mean, sure. Dumbledore is a powerful wizard and the only one that You-Know-Who ever feared-.”

“I wouldn’t say feared; that’s a little far.” Tom cut in.

Ron ignored him and continued “but he’s getting up in years. And even he can’t be right all the time, can he?”

“No. You’re absolutely right.” The dark brunette said as they sat down at the table which Hermoine had claimed. “He can’t be right about everything. No one can. Yet, like lemmings, many still take his word as gospel.”

Their conversations came to an end as their Professor swept into the room, robes fluttering behind him like the leathery black wings of a massive bat.

“First day back together after the holidays.” His black eyes centered in on Harry. “And we’ve the whole class back together again. Joy.” Sarcasm dripped from his drawling tone like poison. “And we’ve a new student as well, I see. Potter’s…boyfriend.”

The Slytherins in the room all heckled. Tom simply smiled, pale lips pulling back over white teeth into a grin which reminded Harry poignantly of a shark. A smile which he’d seen only twice before, in the graveyard and in the Ministry, on the twisted pale perversion of his handsome youthful face.

Snape didn’t quite succeed in keeping the sudden jolt of learned fear off his sallow, sharp featured face. Scenting blood Tom leaned forward over the desk, one graceful pale hand splaying carefully across the dark wood to support his weight.

“Tom Gaunt, Professor. I’ve heard a great deal about you from _my boyfriend_ and I’m sure that you’ll find my skill in this particular subject, as well as associated subjects… Impressive.”

Regaining his composure at a speed which even Harry had to admit was admirable, Snape sneered at him. “We shall see. Though, frankly, I expect you to be as vapid as the company you use to warm your bed.”

The snickering from the Slytherins had transformed into full-blown laughter now. The dangerous grin hadn’t slipped an inch from Tom’s face, nor did he relax his posture. It didn’t escape the raven’s notice that their Professor was now standing almost abnormally straight, shoulders set and tense.

“I am aware that the false Auror who managed to infiltrate the Castle during your fourth year taught the lot of you at the very least a brief overview of the Unforgivable Curses.” He continued, beginning to pace the open stage at the front of the room. “Today we’ll be going more in depth with one of them; the Imperious Curse. Or, more accurately, how to break free should you find yourself under the sway of such a spell. Draco,” the smirking blonde was on his feet moments later, “you’ll be one of the two students I’ll use to demonstrate this matter to the class. Gaunt,” his black eyes fell on Tom again, “you’ll be the other.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor.” Tom rose from his seat and strode serenely towards the front of the room to stand before Draco, who was grinning at him as if he were a cat expecting an easy kill.

Harry never would’ve thought he’d find himself in a situation in which he’d ever be worried for the safety of Draco Malfoy. Considering that the blonde stood before a younger version of the Dark Lord and was entirely unaware of that fact, he knew that Tom had nothing to worry about. The Malfoy heir was lucky that it was the Imperious Curse, and not the Cruciartus Curse, that they were learning to throw off that day.

“Draco, you will cast the spell and you, Gaunt, will shake it off. Or try to.” He said. “Begin!”

“Imperio!” A cloud of yellowish-green smoke shot out of the tip of Draco’s wand and swiftly made its way towards Tom. Once it had faded from view, the dark brunet raised an eyebrow.

“That’s the best that you can do?” he sneered, fingering the carved handle of his own wand. “I can’t tell if you’re unable to muster up the proper intent or just so pitifully weak willed that your diminutive spell merely curled up and died the instant that it came up against mine. Allow me, Professor, to properly demonstrate to the class the Imperius Curse.” The smile slid from Draco’s face like oil as Tom leveled his wand at him. “Imperio!”

Malfoy’s silver eyes instantly glazed over.

“Poor thing. He’s simply no match for me.” He trilled, grinning savagely. Raising his wand, he pointed the tip of it sharply at the floor. “On all fours. Bark like the little dog you are.”

Ron looked gleeful at the display of the Malfoy heir on all fours doing an imitation of what could just as easily have been a seal as a dog. Hermoine, however, looked horrified.

“Tom, stop!”

But the other boy ignored him. “Why don’t you show me your forearms, darling. Just to make sure you don’t have any marks you really shouldn’t.”

Before he could comply with his demand Tom’s wand went sailing out of his hand and into Snape’s, breaking his concentration and the sway of the spell. Draco, flaming red with embarrassment, shot a mutinous look at Tom before fleeing back to his seat. Snape looked furious as he thrust the wand back at him.

“100 points from Gryffindor for attempting to humiliate another student. You will report to my office after dinner has concluded for detention so that you can be properly taught the moral code of this school.”

“Of course, Professor.” Tom replied, unabashed, as he took his wand. “I’ll be there. Right on time.”

“You had best be.” He growled. “Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped against the tiled floor. Their classmates rose around them, chatting to each other as they stuffed their books back into their bags. Tom rejoined them with an air of disappointment to his features.

“Blast, I blew our chance.” Tom huffed. “Should have had him do it earlier.”

“You were going to use the Imperious Curse to attempt to substantiate a frankly ridiculous theory?” Hermoine hissed at him as they left. “He’s too young to be a Death Eater!”

“I wouldn’t say that, Hermoine.” Harry said. “He might have been at one point, but now he’s desperate for followers.”

“I hadn’t originally planned to use the Imperious Curse to make him reveal whether or not he had the Dark Mark, no. But the opportunity was so kindly dropped into my lap.” Tom replied. “That I let that opportunity slip through my fingers shows I’m going soft.”

“Or that you need to work on resisting the urge to toy with people.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right, Precious.”

“I can’t believe we lost 100 points over you doing something so stupid!”

“I think that that show was worth it, even if it does put the Snake House Gits ahead of us in the race for the House Cup.” Ron cackled as the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open for them. “You should have made him lick your boots.”

“It’s lucky that he didn’t.” Harry said. “Snape probably would have killed him then and there.”

“Oh, darling, you know that I can hold my ground. Even if I am facing off against a bat of a Professor. Or, for that matter, a batty Professor. I can’t quite tell which one he is.” Tom led the way up the dormitory stairs and tossed his textbook into his trunk. “Looks like Nagini has made herself quite a home on your bed, Harry.” The massive snake was coiled up fast asleep and half buried beneath his unmade sheets. “Not hard to believe, considering that you left her a nest.”

“She can stay there if she wants.” He replied somewhat distractedly, closing the lid of his trunk with a dull thump. “We should head down to dinner now. You barely ate anything at lunch and missed breakfast all together. Detentions with Snape are horrible; you’ll need the energy for cleaning out cauldrons.”

“I’ll be cleaning out cauldrons, will I? I thought he wasn’t the Potion’s Master anymore.”

“He isn’t, but having to scrub clean cauldrons is an awful experience and he’s such a sadistic Prat that I doubt the punishment will have changed.”

“Our definitions of ‘sadistic’ differ astronomically.” He noted with a snort as they started back down the stairs. “On the subject of the Potion’s Master, I had expected Horace Slughorn to be far more observant. Evidently I overestimated his abilities. _And his memory.”_

_“Better for us that we don’t have to worry about him recognizing you.”_

_“_ Bloody hell, you two don’t waste a moment in getting to the bedroom talk once the day is over.” Ron snickered, narrowly dodging Harry’s elbow as they rejoined Hermoine who had been conversing with Ginny at the time. “Are you coming to dinner? Mum and Dad won’t be happy if they find out I let you start skipping meals.”

“I’ll eat later, Ron.” She told him, snapping her book closed. “I have homework and, unlike _someone_ I know, I care enough about my schoolwork not to leave it to the last possible second.”

“Oh, such venom!” Tom chuckled with a smirk which was mirrored by Hermoine. “Perhaps you ought to learn from your sister’s example. Grades are important later in life, you know. And studying isn’t overly difficult.”

“Easy for you to say, mate; from what you pulled in our classes today I’d be willing to say you’re even smarter than Hermoine!” Ron complained as they began to walk back towards the portrait hole. “How you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw I’ve no idea.”

“The Hat considered it.”

Ginny waited a good ten minutes after they’d vanished from sight and the common room had all but cleared out to set her plan in motion. Pushing her work aside she quickly scaled the stairs to the 6th year boy’s dormitory. Poking her head in through the door, she cautiously scanned the room in order to ensure that she was truly alone before edging fully into the room and shutting the door behind her.

Well aware that they could return from dinner at any moment she quickly crossed the room to Harry’s trunk and hauled open the lid. As swiftly as she could manage without causing undue disturbance to his surrounding belongings, Ginny sifted through his things in search of the innocent appearing parchment. Casting glances over her shoulder at the dormitory door every few moments to ensure that she was still alone. Then, finally, there.

The Marauder’s Map.

She’d heard enough stories about the item by now to be intimately aware of what it did, who created it and how it was properly operated. And what made it worth the risk of breaking into the belongings of her long time crush and her brother’s best friend was the particular property which had come to light during the Scabbars-Peter Pettigrew debacle.

It did not display aliases, only the person’s true name.

Sending one final glance towards the stairs, she pulled her wand from her robes and tapped the parchment in her hands.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink bloomed across its age-yellowed surface and Ginny wasted no time in ripping it open. Her eyes immediately went to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and scouring its length, locating her brother’s name. Hermoine’s. Harry’s. And there, plain as day beside him, sat a monster.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

 _I knew it!_ She’d recognized the fair-faced demon the moment that she’d first laid eyes on him but hadn’t been able to act against him while at home in the Burrow. He was the Dark Lord, or at least some shard of him, and even surrounded by able of-age witches and wizards she’d feared for her family.

But now that she was back at Hogwarts and had this final confirmation of his identity in hand she could finally get rid of him.

Ginny wasn’t quite sure what he was-a shade of the bastard, like what had lived inside of the demented diary which had forced her to unleash the Basilisk during her first year, feeding off of the raven like a parasite or Voldemort himself using a glamor to play some manner of sick game with his obsession-but to her it really didn’t make a difference. All that mattered was putting an end to it, and to do so she’d need help.

“Mischief Managed.”

Concerns confirmed, she no longer needed the map and dropped it back amongst Harry’s things. Now all she needed to do was get out of the dormitory before she was caught.

When the lid of the trunk fell closed Ginny found herself face to face with a loudly hissing Nagini; the serpent had gone unnoticed beneath the pile of sheets coiled at the foot of Harry’s bed and had been disturbed by the sounds of her rummaging carelessly through his things. And, unfortunately for her, things kept getting worse for her from there. Her retreat out of the snake’s reach led her to stumble straight into Harry’s chest as he was coming up the stairs with Ron just behind.

“Ginny? What are you doing up here?” he asked, sounding both confused and genuinely concerned.

“I needed more parchment to finish my paper but my stores had run out so I came up here to borrow some from Ron,” she lied, hastily looking him over in search of any signs of declining health. He wasn’t any paler than usual, his green eyes were as clear and unshadowed as ever and the circular bruises which had braceleted his throat over break-she shuddered to think about the other potential explanation for them-had disappeared. “I must have mixed up your trunk with his and accidentally woke up the snake.”

“Nagini?” he looked over at the serpent on his bed. She hissed something indecipherable which caused his eyebrows to knit together momentarily. “She didn’t try to bite you, did she?”

Ginny shook her head. “No. Gave me a right scare, though.”

“Sorry about that.” He said as Ron handed her a piece of blank parchment alongside a mild admonishment about not following their mother’s instructions to restock over the holiday.

Once both siblings had returned down the stairs Harry turned his attention back to Nagini. “ _You said that she had the Map?”_

_“I assume so. She spoke the charm needed to operate it.”_

He pulled open the lid of his trunk and looked inside; sitting atop the stirred contents was the familiar form of the Marauder’s Map. _“Do you know what she was looking at?”_

_“I can’t be sure; I couldn’t see around the lid.”_

_“So it could have been nothing?”_

_“It could have been.”_

The rational part of him doubted that was true.


	30. A Detention of Pretense

The Dungeons of Hogwarts were two things without fail, dark and cold. This hadn’t changed between timelines and, after six years spent as a member of the Slytherin House the familiarity of it was comforting to him as the damp air-smelling faintly of the Black Lake-settled against his pale skin. Left. Left. Right. Then he came face to face with a sturdy door. After pausing momentarily to summon a pocket watch and confirm that he was indeed exactly on time Tom knocked on the door, prepared to begin what was only the second detention of his life.

“Come in.”

He pushed open the door and stepped into the space beyond, looking around curiously at the office of the ex-Potion’s Master current Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. The room was dimly lit and gloomy, its shadowy walls lined with shelves full of jars of innumerable disgusting things suspended on potions of various colors. A table stood off to one side scattered with athames, scales, stained cutting boards and a number of cauldrons emitting smoke of different colors and smells and a cupboard-presumably containing the sallow faced man’s private stock of Potions ingredients-stood in the corner. A fire crackled in the dark hearth, though it failed to produce much more than tepid light and meager heat and leaving the other man cast in a pall of deep shadows.

“I’m here for my detention, Professor. As promised.” He said pleasantly, not allowing himself to be cowed by the cold glare he was giving him with his black eyes. “I’ll be scrubbing out cauldrons?”

“No,” he flicked his wand at the door and the lock fell into place with a click, “you’ll be answering questions.” Another flick of his wand summoned a chair from thin air. “Sit.”

“If it makes no difference to you, Professor, I’d rather remain standing.” Tom said as he calmly folded his hands behind his back. “What questions will I be answering, Sir? Course related material?”

“Who are you?”

“You’re aware of who I am, as I’m one of your students. You had me in class not two hours ago, Sir.”

“I’ll repeat myself once and will advise that you do not make me do so again.” His wand was pointed at him now. “Who. Are. You.”

“Tom Gaunt, Sir. Do you require my aid to reach the hospital wing? You seem to be suffering from some manner of sudden onset mental malady.”

Snape rushed him then, closing the distance between them in a whirl of black fabric until they were near nose to nose. Tom didn’t so much as flinch.

“I am not a man it is wise to toy with, despite what that sniveling boy may have told you.” He hissed. “Though I have to wonder what in the names of Hecate Circe and Merlin Potter is doing with someone like you.”

He tilted his head to the side, dark eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. “Someone…like me, Professor? I’m afraid I no longer understand what you’re attempting to say.”

“The Gryffindor Whelp doesn’t have so much as a mildly grey bone in his body yet it takes a Dark Wizard of great control and efficiency to cast an Imperius Curse as powerful as the one which you demonstrated in my class today.” Snape snapped. “Now, you will divulge to me who you really are. Unless you would rather I forcibly remove the information.”

“I’d rather,” Tom’s lips curled into an unapologetic smirk, “like to inform you that I’ve begun to think that this ‘detention’ is little more than a pretense.”

The older man growled at him and, moments later, he felt something crash into his mind. Gasping in surprise at the sudden attack, not having expected to find himself confronted by another Legellimens, he quickly expelled the foreign invasion before throwing up his walls.

“I don’t know what my counterpart has taught you, but _I_ consider invading the mind of your opponent in a game of 20 Questions to be _cheating_!” He bit out, cracking his neck in an effort to relieve the mild cramping in the muscles which had tensed at the mental attack.

“Your counterpart?” the sharp faced man repeated. “You mean to tell me that _you_ are the Dark Lord?”

“At 17, yes.”

“…You…what?”

“You mean to tell me that you’re a ‘trusted’ member of Dumbledore’s Order _and_ , presumably, his spy amongst the ranks of my counterpart’s Death Eaters and you _didn’t_ know that the ‘Chosen One’ was in fact sent into an alternate timeline to retrieve me rather than to Eastern Europe for a spot of studying abroad?”

“For what reason would Dumbledore want to have to deal with _two_ of you when we’re struggling enough against one?”

“I don’t think anyone can claim to understand his reasoning for most of what he does. And though I do know, because I’ve been informed in fairly loose terms, were I to tell you I doubt Dumbledore would be particularly pleased.” He turned his head to look back at the door. “Though perhaps you can ask him yourself; he’s about to knock on your door.”

Frowning, he flicked his wand to unlock and open the door of his office, allowing the aged wizard who had been coming down the hallway to step inside.

“Good evening Severus.” He said, nodding at the former Potion’s Master before turning to Tom. “Good evening, Tom. I had heard word that I would find you both in the same place; it seems that you’ve landed yourself in detention already.”

“On a pretense, I assure you.” He hissed. “Tell me, Headmaster, have you perhaps any passing relation to Bloody Mary? Normally I wouldn’t ask, but saying your name three times consecutively appears to summon you.”

Dumbledore chuckled at that and shook his head. “No relation, at least so far as I’m aware.” He said. “If you wouldn’t mind, Severus, I’ll take Mr. Riddle off of your hands. I have need of him.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” He said stiffly.

“Tom, if you would please retrieve Harry from Gryffindor Tower and report to my office for a private lesson? I would have a short conversation with Severus in order to fill him in on the information he’s uncovered tonight before joining you.” He said. “The current password is Toffee Éclair.”

“Of course, Professor.” Relieved to be able to leave the gloomy office and the sallow man’s pinning stare behind, Tom gladly took his leave from Snape’s office and made his way back towards Gryffindor Tower.

“Quid Agis.” The portrait of the Fat Lady smiled at him before swinging open. Tom pulled himself up into the entry way beyond and quickly headed through it into the common room. His dark blue eyes scanned the circular room, landing on Harry within moments. The last traces of tension left his body and a smile found its way onto his face as he crossed the room towards him.

The raven sat with his back to him across from Ron, leaning over the white side of a wizard’s chess board. The black figures had all but massacred the white side at this point, leaving Harry with only a knight a rook and a handful of pawns.

Reaching over his shoulder without otherwise warning of his presence, startling both of them, he picked up the rook and set it down again slightly to the left of its original position.

“Zwischenzug.”

“Bless you, mate.”

“That wasn’t a sneeze, Ron.” Hermoine said from her position curled up on a nearby couch with Crookshanks beside her and a book on Ancient Runes in her hands. “Zwischenzug is a chess tactic in which, rather than the expected next move the player interposes another move. Ideally an immediate threat to the opponent which they’re forced to answer. The point of it is to better your own position, but from what I remember seeing the last time I looked up it’s only put off Harry’s loss for a few more turns.”

“At least I saved him from falling into the blatantly obvious trap I could tell that he was going to.” Tom said. “You two can finish your game later. The Headmaster wants to see Harry and I in his office: private lessons.”

“Private lessons?” Hermoine repeated, her book forgotten for the time being. “On what subject? Are you resuming your Occlumency lessons, Harry?”

Tom sent him a sideways glance but made no verbal comment.

“Oh, no Hermoine. Snape never wants me in his office again after what happened the last time that he tried to teach me to shield my mind and Professor Dumbledore is already going to be busy teaching us…a different subject.”

“Highly advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts; stuff which most Aurors don’t even know.” Tom supplied quickly before she could open her mouth to speak again. “How to deal with worse things than even the Unforgivables. The sort of topics which, frankly, would be less than prudent to teach in the general class.”

This answer seemed to be more than satisfactory to her, as she opened her book and began reading again. “Well, we may just have to restart the D.A. again if it’s something that we can’t touch on in class. What with,” she lowered her voice to say “Voldemort” before returning to her usual talking volume “at large we may need to know whatever he’s teaching you as well.”

“Fat chance of doing that, considering the Slytherin Prat has taken over the Room of Requirement.”

“We don’t know that it was Malfoy, Ron.”

“Who _else_ could it be?”

Hermoine chose to ignore him rather than dignifying that last comment. “We don’t need to use the Room of Requirement to restart the D.A. anyway. Not now that that horrible woman isn’t lording over the school any longer.” She said. “We can just request the use of one of the empty classrooms.”

“I really don’t know if that’s possible, Hermoine. Teaching anyone else what Tom and I are going to be learning, I mean.” The more people who knew about the fact that Voldemort had created Horcruxes the greater the chance became that the Dark Lord would catch wind of what they were up to before they could finish it. And that was the last thing they needed. “We should probably get going, Tom. We don’t want to be late.”

“We most certainly don’t.” The dark brunet replied, sweeping the smaller male ahead of him. “Shouldn’t keep the Headmaster waiting.”

Thankfully, despite the rapid approach of curfew they managed to avoid running into either Filch or his cat and safely arrived outside of the gargoyle which concealed the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

“I’m not sure what the password is now, but it’s usually some form of-.”

“Toffee Éclair.” The statue leapt aside to allow them to pass. Tom smirked at him. “What, love? Did you expect he’d ask that I retrieve you and then report to his office _without_ telling me the password?”

The destruction their arrival had caused to the office had since been repaired. Fawkes sat on his perch and examined them both closely. Dumbledore had yet to return.

“Hello Fawkes.” Harry approached the phoenix with a smile, reaching out to stroke his feathers. Tom remained standing where he was and merely extended a curt nod of acknowledgement to the handsome bird.

“With Harry’s influence you’ve made great strides, though you could do well to extend yourself more to those outside of your relationship as well.” Dumbledore said as he crested the stairs behind them and headed towards his desk.

“You’re asking too much of a Sociopath, old man.”

“I’d rather like to think that you’re asking too little of yourself, Tom.” He settled himself calmly in the high-backed chair. Harry snickered at Tom when he scrunched up his nose in response to the older wizard’s latest statement. “But that is a topic which we can afford to address on another day. For now, we should focus on our current topic of concern.”

“Horcruxes.” Tom said.

The Headmaster nodded. “Indeed, Horcruxes. You’ve read the book by now, I expect?”

“I have.”

“And we got to you in time?”

“Only barely, but yes. I intended to create more than one, as I’m sure that you’re by now aware, but the book contained no information on the stability or potential consequences of doing such a thing. I meant to seek answers elsewhere, had a few places to look in mind, but I never got around to it.” He replied. “I’d even procured the first three objects I intended to use.”

“Your diary,” Dumbledore set the destroyed leather book down atop his desk, “your family ring,” he carefully removed the split-stoned ring from his desiccated hand, “and, I presume, Slytherin’s locket?”

“You presume correctly.” Tom allowed. “I am aware that Harry destroyed the diary with a Basilisk fang while in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year. You located the ring amidst the decaying ruins of the shack where my wizarding relatives lived in squalor and destroyed it?”

“I did.”

“And one of the defenses set up by my counterpart caused the damage to your hand?”

“A particularly nasty piece of curse work which, I suspect, he created himself.”

Tom glanced briefly at Harry, who still stood beside the Phoenix’s perch, and set his jaw. “If you would have me do so, Professor, I can begin attempting to develop a counter curse tonight. One that will, if not undo the damage, put a permanent stop to its progress.”

“Though I know your offer is out of a desire to please Harry rather than any concern for me, it is kind of you all the same.” He said. “However, it is unnecessary. I’ve already someone attending to it.”

“The dungeon bat?”

“You’re trusting _Snape_ , Professor?”

“I am well aware of what you think of Severus, Harry, but his loyalty to the Order has long been proven.”

“And that’s precisely why you didn’t include him in the ‘need to know about the teenaged version of the Dark Lord now present in our timeline helping us to defeat Voldemort’ basket until he dragged me to his office and attempted to riffle through my head?”

“He _what_?”

“I handled the situation, Precious. I think we should get back to the matter at hand.” Tom said offhandedly before returning his dark gaze on Dumbledore. “You have the diary and the ring, but not the locket?”

“I have yet to locate the location where Voldemort chose to hide it.”

“The seaside. Where those awful hags at the Orphanage took us on a rare daytrip back when I was a child. There’s a cave there; I…used it to teach a lesson to a pair of brats. It’s bloody difficult to spot and even harder to get to and it’s where I originally planned to hide the locket. Try there.”

“Originally?” the aged wizard’s pale blue eyes traveled over to the chain of the locket which vanished beneath the collar of Harry’s sweater. “I see.” For some reason the small smile on the Headmaster’s face coupled with Tom’s exasperated reaction of pinching the bridge of his nose made him blush. “I shall look into the information which you have given me, Tom. Though it will undoubtedly take a while to confirm.”

“Given my own paranoia and my awareness that messing around with Dark Magic can exacerbate it I can only imagine.” He said. “Anything else, Headmaster?”

“I think that’s enough for one night. I’ll call you both back soon, should something change.” Dumbledore told them. “Off to bed, both of you. It wouldn’t do for you to be caught outside of Gryffindor Tower at this hour.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry followed Tom out of the office and back down the stairs. They’d only made it halfway down the corridor before Tom caught him by the wrist and tugged him through a door.

“A bit of a talk before we return to the dorms, if you would indulge me?” His voice issued from the darkness a few inches in front of him before the tip of Tom’s wand silently flared with white light. “Tonight has raised some questions which I’d appreciate an answer to.”

Harry shrugged at him in response. “Ask them, then. Though, knowing you, I can’t be sure I’ll even have an answer.”

The dark brunet’s crooked smirk reflected the glow of his wand. “Fear not, Precious. I don’t intend to give you a spontaneous practice N.E.W.T in a broom closet.” He said. “What is the D.A.? The thing that Granger brought up earlier.”

“Dumbledore’s Army.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot into his fringe. “Dumbledore’s…Army?”

“It isn’t what you’re thinking, Tom.” Harry assured him with a small grin. “Our Defense teacher last year, the pink toad, was sent by the then Minister of Magic-Fudge-to make sure that Dumbledore wasn’t planning to overthrow him and take over his position-.”

“As if Albus Dumbledore would ever want to be the Minister of Magic!”

“I didn’t say that Fudge was rational. In fact, he was far from it; thought we were both off our rockers for suggesting that Voldemort had returned.” Harry told him. “He appointed her as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher but she refused to allow us to so much as draw our wands in class. So some students…turned elsewhere to find another teacher.”

Tom’s eyes lit up with understanding. “You. They turned to you in the absence of a competent Professor to teach them Defense Against the Dark Arts. That’s what you meant when you said that you’d taught others to cast the Patronus Charm before.” He nodded. “And the purpose behind calling your class, of all things, Dumbledore’s _Army_?”

“A bit of a spiteful joke. And it turned out to be a dumb idea, as it wound up getting us into a considerable amount of trouble.”

Tom snorted and grinned. “You do seem to be a magnet for trouble.” He said. “You were taught Occlumancy by the dungeon bat?”

“I wouldn’t really call it ‘taught’.” Harry said bitterly. “It was more like torture poorly disguised as teaching.”

The taller boy’s face briefly contorted but he didn’t say anything. “Would you _like_ to be taught Occlumancy? Given that I, too, am a Legellimens I could teach you; it would be useful, I’m sure, to be able to keep my counterpart out of your head.” He said. “It’s the least that I can do in return for your continued lessons regarding how to cast a Patronus. Not to mention it may be necessary in the long run for disposing of any potential Horcruxes we run into in the future.”

“I don’t see how shielding my mind could help me to destroy a Horcrux, Tom.”

“Fiendfyre requires phenomenal mental fortitude, as I’ve told you.” Tom reminded him. “Learning how to shield your mind through Occlumancy is a step towards gaining that fortitude.”

“You can cast it.”

“I can. Yes. But you shouldn’t depend on my always being there, Precious. As much as I hate to consider the possibility, we could become…separated.”

The underlying connotation of that statement wasn’t lost on either of them.

“…Alright.” Harry relented after another moment of further reluctance. “I suppose you can’t possibly be any worse than he was.”

“I agree, considering I’ll actually be _trying_ to teach you.” Tom reached for the door.

Harry caught him by the wrist before he could turn the knob. “Wait.”

“Something wrong?” the grin was back in place as he turned back to him, his large hands finding his hips and pulling him closer. “Or were you simply suggesting we make use of the fact that we’re shut up together in a broom closet. Alone. At night.”

“No. Tom, we have a problem.”

“Problem?” the other repeated, beginning to kiss his way down along the contours of the smaller male’s neck. “I see no problem here.”

“It’s Ginny.” Harry could hardly escape from him in the cramped space and instead turned his efforts towards keeping his voice level and his breathing normal. “When we came back from dinner after you left to go to your detention I found her up in the 6th year dorms; she told me that she was looking for parchment and mixed up my trunk with Ron’s but Nagini told me that she was using the Marauder’s Map.”

“So?” He pulled the collar of his sweater back from his shoulder and gently imprinted his teeth into the pale flesh.

“I think she knows.”

“What reason could she possibly have to suspect-.” He stiffened and straightened up, dark eyes glittering. “Bloody hell, she was the girl that you saved from the Chamber! The one that was possessed by my counterpart’s Diary! She can see through my glamor!” Tom relaxed abruptly. “We’ve a 15 year old after me, hmm? Pity that anything she says on the matter can easily be put down to trauma: ‘I hate knowing that my unfortunate resemblance to my less than savory blood relation over which I’ve absolutely no control seems to be triggering some sort of post traumatic reaction in her, but such seems to be the unavoidable truth!’ You worry too much.”

He reached for the door again.

“You should probably be made aware that she’s very adept in the Bat-bogey hex.”

Tom chuckled as they exited the closet and stepped into the corridor beyond. “The Bat-bogey hex? You expect _me_ to be unable to handle myself against such an infantile bit of Dark Magic? Don’t be daft!”

Harry couldn’t quite keep a smile off his face at his reaction. “I just thought that you’d rather be aware of that fact than wind up in the hospital wing.”

“I think we both know which of the two of us would really end up in the hospital wing were she to try something against me.” He replied. “Nothing too damaging of course, as I know that she’s a friend of yours, but rather a stiff shot across the bow.”

“Don’t go after her preemptively either!” That would only make matters worse.

“I know better, Precious.” Tom said as they started up the stairwell which led up to Gryffindor Tower. “But we should really both be heading to bed, now. We’ve an early morning tomorrow.”


	31. Honor Guard

**Fred and George,**

**As Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has been doing so well in comparison to your competitors I would suspect that the two of you wouldn’t mind donating some of your surplus supplies to your sister, especially for such a noble cause as making the lives of the occupants of Slytherin House a living hell. And if not for the furtherance of such a cause, then at least in the spirit of testing out any newly developed prototypes which have yet to be deemed ready for sale. Please send whatever you’re willing to lend to my cause as soon as you are able.**

**Expecting a reply,**

**Ginny**

With her red and gold scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and face to protect herself from the cold Ginny hurried up the stone steps to the owlry with the letter to her brother’s clutched in one gloved hand. It would surely take her a while to determine the best way to dismantle the false identity that the evil bastard had enrobed himself in, but she had no intention of allowing him to sit pretty in the meanwhile. Well aware of the many devious things that Fred and George were capable of dreaming up to keep their customer’s guessing, many of which having been publicly tested against the horrible toad the year before, Ginny had determined to make use of some of them to transform Tom Riddle’s life into a waking nightmare until the point when she could properly unmask him.

And she knew that the best way to convince them to assist her in her cause without asking too many questions was to simply tell them that she had a vested interest in tormenting Slytherins. And it wasn’t entirely untrue.

He was the Heir of Slytherin, after all.

The fluttering sound of hundreds of wings and raucous hooting of differing pitch assaulted her the moment she crested the stairs and stepped into the round room at the top of the tower. Amidst the wall of dark feathers, Hedwig’s snowy plumage stood out like a flaming beacon; Harry’s owl swiveled her head towards her and hooted in greeting.

She smiled up at her. “Hello, Hedwig.” Passing underneath the beautiful bird’s perch, Ginny headed over to where her brother’s hyperactive Scops owl was sleeping. Knowing that the little bird would immediately begin soaring laps around her head the instant that he woke up she gently grabbed hold of him before her presence could be noticed. After succeeding in tying the letter to the little owl’s leg she released him; he orbited her head at rapid speed a couple of times, chittering excitedly before sailing out of one of the tower’s little windows.

With Pigwidgeon sent on his way with the letter leaving her to play the waiting game, Ginny left the room and headed back down the owlry stairs. The trio and their demonic shadow were in class for the time, leaving her free to act without concern for being watched though that wouldn’t last for too much longer. Luckily Neville was on his free period for the time being and wasn’t overly difficult to spot.

“Neville,” he looked up at her when she spoke, leaving the greyish cactus to fend for itself on the table, “are you busy at the moment.”

“Not particularly,” he said, picking up the potted plant. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Something is _very_ wrong; come with me to get Luna. I need to talk to both of you.”

“Alright. Just let me put my Mimbulus Mimbletonia up.” He quickly rose from his seat and disappeared up the stairs. A few moments later he returned without the ash-toned cactus.

The two quickly left the Gryffindor common room and descended the tower stairs. They made their way through the corridor to Ravenclaw tower and ascended the stairs, reaching the door with the eagle-shaped knocker. The knocker’s single eye focused in on them and its beak opened. “My host thinks I’m an irritation, a bother, a pain, but he can’t evict me so here I remain. Then one day I’m taken and ranked among my peers. Can you guess what I am? You might just call me dear.”

Ginny stared at the door for a moment before looking over at Neville, who shook his head.

“I’m terrible at riddles.”

“Ginny?” both turned to see Cho cresting the stairs behind them. “Neville? What are the two of you doing up here?”

“We’re trying to get into the common room so that we can find Luna.” Ginny explained. “Neville and I urgently need to speak with her. It’s important.”

“I’ll get her for you.” When Cho stepped up to the door the knocker repeated its riddle and after supplying it with the correct answer “a pearl” she was allowed to proceed through it into the common room.

She returned not long after with Luna trailing dreamily behind her.

“Thank you, Cho.” She said somewhat reluctantly. Ginny had not forgotten the fact that Cho had, for a time, been the focus of Harry’s attentions and was thereby classifiable as his ex-girlfriend nor had she forgiven her for siding with the snitch that had outed them all to Umbridge the year before.

“I couldn’t just leave the two of you standing out here; who knows how long you would have waited.” She said. “Can I ask…about Harry?”

She felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. “Can you?” Ginny really didn’t _want_ to provide the other witch any information on him but she also didn’t want to risk setting off the waterworks that the Ravenclaw was famous for so deflection had seemed like the simplest answer.

Unfortunately for her the other woman translated that as permission and plowed onwards. “How is he? I mean…I had no idea that he was…what’s he like? The transfer student, I mean. His boyfriend.” Ginny couldn’t stop her face from pulling down into a frown at the application of such a label to a _creature_ like Tom Riddle. “I’ve wanted to talk to Tom myself, but he’s never more than a step away from Harry. And with how badly our relationship ended…I don’t want that to poison our conversation.”

“Any conversation with _him_ would be poison, regardless of whether Harry was present or not.” Her dislike of Cho aside, she wasn’t quite petty enough to allow her to walk into the serpent’s den. “Listen, Cho, I’ll admit that for various reasons you’re not my favorite person in the world but, believe me, Tom is bad news; a very dangerous person. And trying to engage him in any sort of conversation, especially alone, is a _bad_ idea. In fact, you’d be best served to avoid him all together.”

“I…oh,” she seemed almost put out by the warning, but nodded regardless. “Thank you for the warning; I still think that I’d like to talk with him if only briefly. I’ll let the three of you get on with things.”

She retreated back into the common room before Ginny could make any further attempt to discourage her.

“You really think that Tom is such a horrible person, Ginny?” Neville asked her once the door to the Ravenclaw common room had firmly shut behind Cho. “He seems like a good guy to me.”

“Here isn’t the best place for this conversation, Neville.” Ginny told him, starting back down the stairs. “Where’s the nearest unused classroom, Luna?”

“Not far.” Luna told her, pulling ahead of their little group. “This way.”

After reaching the bottom of the staircase the blonde turned left and proceeded a ways down the corridor before pushing open a door. Ginny and Neville followed her through the door into the unused classroom, the door clicking shut behind them and leaving the trio in the company of the sheet-covered forms of a few sparsely placed pieces of long unused furniture.

“Now we can be sure that someone isn’t going to come walking up on us.” She said, turning her silvery eyes on the other witch. “You can tell us what’s wrong.”

“Harry is in life-threatening danger!”

Both stared at her in the wake of the sudden declaration; even Luna appeared to be mildly surprised by what had come out of the redhead’s mouth.

“Harry is in life-threatening danger?” Neville forced a small laugh. “Isn’t he _always_ in life-threatening danger, what with You-Know-Who after him personally?”

“Yes, but this is _different!_ ” Ginny barely kept the snap out of her voice. “He wasn’t snogging and presumably _sleeping_ with him until recently! As I’m sure that the two of you can both imagine the chances of getting bitten by a snake increase exponentially when you invite one into your bed!”

“But why do you think Tom is You-Know-Who?” Luna asked her. “He’s a bit too young. Doesn’t look anything like how Harry has described him. Not to mention that ‘Tom’ is a rather unintimidating name for a Dark Lord, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t look at all like how he was described? Can either of the two of you even describe Tom to me?”

“Well, he’s fairly tall.” Neville started. “And pale. With dark hair.”

“Dark hair that is confused as to whether it’s curly or wavy. And dark eyes.” Luna continued. “I suppose that he could be called handsome. Though he dresses in clothes which are rather old fashioned.”

“He reminds me a little bit of Malfoy.” Neville admitted. “With the arrogance, though I guess with intelligence like his feeling the way he does is a little bit justified.”

“’Dark’ is the best that you can do to describe his hair and eyes?” Ginny asked them. “No definitive colors?”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Neville said, suddenly looking nervous. “What do you think that means?”

“He must be using some sort of glamour to conceal himself.” Luna said. “That explains the abnormal amount of Wrackspurts which are always following him around. They’re attracted to strong concealments.”

Ginny refused to acknowledge the Wrackspurts comment. “I can tell the both of you exactly what he looks like because I’ve seen him before. His hair is dark brown. His eyes are dark blue. He’s one of, if not the most, handsome men that you’ll run into in your life; he’s well aware of this and uses the fact as a weapon. He’s cunning and charismatic and it’s no small surprise that even someone as strong as Harry has fallen under his influence. I remember what he was like during my first year.”

                She shuddered.

“He was possessing the diary that I’d been using. Convinced me that what I was doing was a good thing in the long run. That I was saving magic from itself. That I’d be remembered as a hero and that he’d write my name in the heavens with stars. Presented himself as kind and benevolent; someone that I could confide in. But he was really a monster. A parasite. I thought that Harry had killed him down in the Chamber of Secrets but it seems like I was wrong.”

“You think that he’s feeding off of Harry now?” Ginny nodded. “What could he be attached to, if not the diary?”

“The locket?” Neville suggested.

“No. Harry didn’t get that until Christmas at home. The bastard must have been attached to something that he came into contact with while he was abroad.” She said. “Or else…but I doubt that even he would be that sick.” Ginny shook her head to clear away the unwanted thoughts. “I was all but certain that it was him just by sight, but my suspicions were confirmed when the Marauder’s Map showed me his real name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“We should let someone know right away! If he’s really You-Know-Who-!”

“We can’t just go running to the nearest Professor, Neville! They won’t believe us.” Ginny interrupted. “We have to unmask him ourselves first.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

“By studying, of course. Studying _him_.” She said. “There must be some mention of him somewhere in the records. In the trophy room. Or at least in the memories of someone who was here at the same time; we’ll need to figure out who they are and question them. I’ve ordered some joke supplies from my brothers to torture him with in the interim.”

“The Grey Lady.” Both looked over at Luna in surprise, meeting the Ravenclaw’s smile with confusion and raised eyebrows. Which really wasn’t all that new.

“Um, Luna, what about her?”

“She’s the Ghost of Ravenclaw Tower. And like all of the Ghosts of Hogwarts she’s been here for a very long time.” Luna said. “She might know of him.”

“But the Gray Lady doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“She talks to Ravenclaws.” She insisted, turning towards the door. “Come on. We’ll go and speak with her now.”

Luna slipped back out into the corridor. Ginny and Neville exchanged a semi-nervous semi-exasperated glance before following her. They only had to climb half way back up Ravenclaw tower before they encountered the Grey Lady.

“Hello, Helena.” She said.

“Hello, Luna.” The ghost replied before her eyes landed suspiciously on Neville and Ginny. “You were taking these two Gryffindors up to the common room?”

“No, actually. We came up here looking for you. You see, we have some questions regarding a former student of Hogwarts and thought we might start our search for answers with some of the ghosts.”

“A former student? Of Ravenclaw House?”

“No,” Ginny said. “A Slytherin.”

“A Slytherin?” her demeanor instantly became wary. “You should be questioning the Bloody Baron, then. He would know a great deal more of former Slytherins than I could ever hope to, as such is his House.”

“That’s true, but I thought that you would be more willing to speak with us than he would. The Ghost of Slytherin House is known to be rather tight lipped, after all.” Luna’s comment elicited a somewhat unwilling smile. “Does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?”

“Riddle? I should have known when you spoke of a former Slytherin that _Thomas Riddle_ was the one you had in mind!” She withdrew a ways up the stairs away from them. “A liar. And a monster, as he soon revealed himself to be. But at the time he was flattering. Though I knew he had no interest in women-let alone a ghost-he seemed to…understand…sympathize, even. But he was only after information on my mother’s Diadem.”

That meant nothing to either Ginny or Neville but Luna’s eyes widened.

“The lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?” she repeated. “He wanted to use it?”

“He told me that he wished to finish my work and destroy it, but he defiled it instead with Dark Magic! I don’t know his motives or his ends, but because of his actions it’s now tainted beyond all repair!” Helena retreated further from them. “I have no desire to speak of him further! Go pester Moaning Myrtle on the matter of that animal instead!”

And with that, she was gone.

“The lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?”

Luna fixed them both with her usual semi-bug eyed stare. “You don’t know about it?”

Both shook their heads.

“The lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is one of the four items of the Hogwarts founders along with the sword of Godrick Gryffindor, the locket of Salazar Slytherin, and the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.” She explained as they started back down the stairs. “The cup and the locket went to the Heirs of their respective owners, and the locket in particular seems to have recently found its way into Harry’s hands. The sword is said to appear to any true Gryffindor with dire need of it, but the Diadem was stolen long ago and has long been considered lost to time.”

“But why would You-Know-Who want the Diadem?” Neville asked her. “What does it do?”

“It enhances the wisdom of the wearer. Clears your head and makes it easier to think. Presumably functions through some manner of lost Wrackspurt repelling charm.” She replied matter of factly. “Though I doubt that he would make a public show of using it. After all it is, essentially, a tiara.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if the resultant mental image was silly or disturbing.

“We should start off by gathering as much basic information on his as possible. Looking into any records that we can find, and then see what we can get out of Moaning Myrtle.”

“We should head to the library right away, then.”

The three of them quickly made their way through the corridors and up to the library.

“What sort of books should we look for?”

“Record books, mostly. That would probably be the best place for us to start. We’ll do our best to trace him from there in an effort to find out whatever we can potentially use against him as well as what Harry might have come into contact with to allow him to latch onto him.”

                Ginny, Neville and Luna split up and all went to different shelves. Scanning the countless books in the collection of the school for any that might potentially prove useful before reporting back to the nearest table and pooling their selections together.

                The three of them began pouring over the books. Checking tables of contents. Thumbing through chapters. Scanning small lines of even smaller text in search of the name Tom Riddle until their eyes could barely focus properly. Leaving the table from time to time to go to their respective classes or to dinner only to return immediately afterwards. The sunlight faded through the windows of the library until darkness fell completely outside.

All three jumped when a bag was set on the floor beside their table with a small thump.

“Circe, no wonder all the record shelves are empty.” Tom picked up the leather-covered book which had been sitting atop the nearest pile and examined the spine. “What are the lot of you doing hoarding old student rosters? Some obscure project for History of Magic?”

“Yes, exactly. Though I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Ginny said sharply.

“Interesting.” He set the book down delicately back in its place. “Mind if I join you? The only other open table is filled with Ravenclaws who are trying to make liquid bacon and I’d rather avoid getting covered in their latest science experiment when it inevitably explodes.”

“U-Uh, o-oh. Yeah, sure.” Neville had begun to shake.

If Tom noticed he didn’t comment and lowered himself gracefully into the open chair. Delving into his bag, he pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and a book on Arithmancy. “Normally, I’d have simply done my work in the common room but it’s gotten quite raucous and I require quiet to be able to properly articulate such a complicated theory as the one we’ve been asked to write an essay on.” Realizing that Luna was again staring at a place just passed his head he turned in his chair to glance at the shelf behind him; on seeing nothing but books, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Are there…what were they…Wrackspurts, again?”

She nodded at him, smile not slipping. Seemingly unnerved, he quickly focused his attention on the assignment in front of him.

Ginny closed the book that she’d been holding with a snap and stood up. “I think that’s enough for one night. I’m going to head back to the common room.”

“Me too!” Neville was on his feet in a matter of seconds, beginning to assist her in gathering up the books only to have all of them fly out of their hands and begin making their way back towards their proper shelves on their own.

“We’ve full freedom to use magic while on the grounds of the school,” Tom said as he lowered his wand without looking up, “no need to waste the energy putting all of them away like Muggles.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him but her glare was ostentatiously ignored. “Are you coming, Luna?”

“Oh no, not yet.” The blonde said. “I think I’ll go lend my assistance to my House mates’ project.”

Ginny and Neville exited the library and Luna floated over in the direction of the table where the other Ravenclaws were sitting, leaving Tom alone to finish working. He took advantage of the silence and the lack of staring and managed to turn out 3/4ths of his Arithmancy essay before he felt a pair of eyes resting on him again.

Half expecting that the librarian had come to warn him to vacate the area soon on account of the rapid approach of curfew he was instead met with the sight of an unfamiliar witch who he could tell by the color of the lapels of her robes was a Ravenclaw.

“Can I…help you?” he asked after a moment further where she said nothing.

“Hello. You’re Tom?”

The dark brunet nodded. “I am. You are?”

“Cho Chang. I’m…I’m actually Harry’s…ex-girlfriend.”

“Ok.” He said. “And?”

“Can I, um, talk to you?”

Tom shrugged and quickly gathered up his things before pulling his bag up onto his shoulder. “Sure. Mind if we walk and talk? It’s getting pretty close to curfew.”

“No. Not at all.” Tom motioned her ahead and the two left the library together. “I didn’t know that Harry was into men.”

“He isn’t. But I think that he put it best when explaining our situation to his friend Ron: sometimes gender doesn’t matter.” He said. “I wasn’t informed of any specific details on the matter, but from what I understand the two of you broke up last year? And on relatively bad terms?”

Cho nodded reluctantly. “We did.”

“If I can ask this without seeming unreasonably catty, if that’s the case why are you asking about him now?”

“I just want to know how he’s doing.”

“He’s as happy as can be expected, with the burden that fate has made for him to have to bear on his shoulders.” Tom replied. “Has someone told you otherwise?”

“I spoke with Ginny earlier today and she made a vague suggestion that you might be…hurting him.”

He stopped walking, expression turning to stone. Cho continued a few steps further before realizing her conversation partner was no longer following and turning back.

“I suggest that you disregard anything that Ginny Weasley has said about me and my relationship with Harry.” He hissed, barely restraining himself from slipping into Parseltongue out of anger. “I am a lot of horrible things and I would be the first person in the world to admit as much but an abuser of my partners is _not_ one of them. And I find the insinuation that I would _ever_ lay a violent hand on the man that I love to be disgusting and offensive.” Tom took a deep breath before continuing. “I understand your concern. You care for him…or at least believe that you do.”

She bristled. “What do you mean I ‘believe that I care for him’? Are you suggesting that I only ever dated him because he was the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’?”

“That isn’t what I meant; forgive me if it seemed that way.” He said. “I’m going to be honest and hope that by doing so I am not being unwarrantedly cruel in breaking to you the truth that I know, he knows, and you know even if you won’t admit it to anyone including yourself. It was never Harry that you wanted.”

“How-!”

“Would you ever have given him the time of day if Cedric Diggory were still alive?” she flinched. Tom softened his tone. “I can’t imagine it. Honestly. What it must be like to lose the person that you love, especially so suddenly as you did. And for what happened to you I am deeply sorry, but I think that it would be best for everyone if you were to look elsewhere. To move on.”

When she turned away from him her eyes were wet. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should try and…move on.”

“I wish you all the best in doing so.” Tom shifted the weight of the bag on his shoulder. “This is where you and I part ways, Ms. Chang. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

Without waiting to see if she moved to head towards Ravenclaw tower or not, Tom turned and started back towards Gryffindor tower. Ginny had presumably already gone up to the 5th year girl’s dorms by then as he didn’t see her anywhere, but he did catch sight of Ron and headed straight for him.

“Weasley!” the red-head looked up at the harsh bark of his name from across the room. Harry, sitting beside his friend, sent Tom a warning glance as he came to a stop beside them but didn’t speak. “If you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor, I’d appreciate it if you could please inform your darling baby sister that the next time she wants to paint me as a monster in the eyes of one of my boyfriend’s ex-partners she’d better come up with something more plausible than ‘he hits him when no one is looking’!”

“What do you mean she’s suggesting that you’ve been hitting him?” Hermoine spoke before either boy could, sounding shocked and indignant.

“I ran into Cho Chang a few minutes ago; we walked back together from the library. She told me that she’d spoken to Ginny about you earlier today and was told, and I quote, “a vague suggestion that you might be hurting him’.” Tom dropped his bag and settled himself on a crimson floor pillow, beginning to search through his belongings for his as of yet unfinished essay. “As if I’d _ever_ stoop to something so disgustingly plebian and _muggle_ as to beat someone up! The _only_ time our relationship has ever come to blows, the one on the receiving end of the punch was _me_!”

“You hit him, mate?”

“I deserved it.” Tom noted dryly, stabbing his essay a bit too harshly with the point of his quill.

“I know that jealousy can drive people to do strange things, but I never thought Ginny would result to a smear campaign.” She said. “You two should be careful. The last thing you need to have to worry about on top of everything else is for a rumor campaign to start.”

“Let them talk. It’s nothing that they haven’t done before.” Harry replied exasperatedly, gathering his belongings and standing up. “Are you coming to bed, Tom?”

The dark brunet held up the mutilated parchment in answer. “This needs to be rewritten, I’m afraid. So I’ll have to say no, Precious.”

“I’ll help you,” Hermoine said, leaving her chair to join him on the floor. “You’ll be able to get to bed at a reasonable time, that way.”

“Thank you, Ms. Granger.”

“Ron?” Harry asked, looking to his best friend who got up as well and collected his things.

“May as well.” He said. “Without you down here, all there’d be for me to do is watch them write.”

After a brief exchange of goodnight, the two boys headed for the dormitory stairs.

“I can’t believe my sister would suggest Tom could be beating you when no one’s looking, especially considering he becomes nearly homicidal every time a Slytherin looks at you wrong.”

Harry opened his trunk and pulled out a set of night clothes. “Have we ever claimed to understand women?”

“Well, you’ve a point with saying that.” Ron admitted as he climbed into his bed. “But hitting you? That’s a bit uncalled for.”

The raven only grunted in response as the lights around them dimmed. Given her experience with the diary Horcrux, he doubted that physical abuse had really been what Ginny had meant when she suggested that Tom was hurting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not be able to post again before the holidays are over-I'm getting dragged to a bunch of extended family stuff over the next few days-so in case I'm not able to get around to it again before all of the festivities are over I hope that everyone has a happy holiday regardless of which one you celebrate.


	32. Return to the Chamber

“Are you sure about this, Ginny? I mean,” Neville’s gaze landed on the small faded plaque hung on the wall beside the door, “this is a girl’s bathroom.”

“No one has used this bathroom in at least a couple of decades, Neville.” Ginny reassured him. “If no one noticed Harry, Ron and Hermoine brewing Polyjuice Potion in there during your second year no one is going to notice the three of us standing in there for long enough to have a conversation with Moaning Myrtle.”

“Yes. No one will notice. No one comes into the bathroom _because_ of Moaning Myrtle.” Luna seconded. “We should be more concerned as to whether or not she’ll talk to us. I’ve heard about her from a few people; supposedly she’s not very nice.”

“She likes Harry; if we mention that it could help him I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to talk.” She said, starting towards the door. “Come on. We shouldn’t hang around out here or we _will_ get caught.”

The old door creaked open on long un-oiled hinges and the dim lights flared up, illuminating the faded tiles and tarnished silver sinks. Their footsteps clicked against the cracked floor as they moved further into the room, mixing with the sound of soft sobbing which emanated from inside of one of the stalls.

“Looks like we’ve found her.” Ginny noted quietly before stepping up to the furthest stall from the door and pushing it open. “Myrtle?”

The crying ghost raised her head to glare at them.

“Oh, what’s this? Students out of bed so long after curfew? Come to look for poor miserable moping Moaning Myrtle? To mock me, perhaps? Or throw something at me again? I know that it was you who did it.”

“I was trying to get rid of the Diary, I didn’t know that you were sitting in that particular toilet. I’m sorry.” She told her quickly. “But we’re not here to mock you or throw things at you. We’re here about Harry.”

“Harry?” she raised her head, her tone changing from defensive to curious. “What about him?” Myrtle floated up from where she’d been sitting to peer over the side of the stall. “Is he here? It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh, um, no.” He’s not with us at the moment.” Neville said as Myrtle scanned the room and then began to stare at him.

“He’s in danger, Myrtle. And the Grey Lady suggested that you might be able to help us.”

Her gaze returned to Ginny. “He’s really in danger, is he? Alright, I’ll help you. But in return I’d like for you to remind him that, when he dies, he’s still very much welcome to share my toilet.”

“…We’ll do that.”

“Well then, what would you like to know?”

“Whatever you can tell us about Tom Riddle.”

“Tom Riddle.” She repeated, half-dreamily and half-bitterly. “I was two years behind him in school; he and I were both bullied terribly, or so I heard, and yet suddenly in his fourth year Slytherins and eventually the entire school went from treating him like an outcast to treating him like a God. I’m not sure what happened, but rumors that I heard spoke of him being the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, the Heir of Slytherin, and that he could speak to snakes. He was a handsome boy. Smart. Polite. Though not to me, of course no one was. But why would he be? I was a ‘Mudblood’.”

Myrtle huffed.

“Everyone at school wanted him. His little club, his Knights he called them, were a harem of sorts as well though I doubt that he was going at it with all of them. He struck me as having better taste than the likes of Crab and Goyle. Either way, I was trying to stay away from them.”

She floated back down to sit atop the tank of the toilet. “On the night that I died I’d been chased here by the bullying of another member of my House. I heard a man’s voice speaking in a funny language; when I went to tell him to get out and that this was a girl’s bathroom, I died. I didn’t know that it was Tom who was speaking or that what he was speaking to was a Basilisk until Harry told me. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is over there, by that sink.”

Neville and Luna both glanced over at the round column of sinks but Ginny ignored them.

“Do you know of anyone else who might have had contact with him while he was still in school that we could talk to?” she asked.

“Well, Minerva McGonagall was a Gryffindor of his same year. Horace Slughorn was the Potion’s Master at the time and the Head of Slytherin House, and the Headmaster was the Transfiguration teacher at the time. And then there was Hagrid, though he was expelled not long after I died: I’m not sure, but I think that Tom might have had something to do with it.”

“Is there anything else that you could tell us?”

The door of the bathroom shrieked open again before the ghost could answer, voices bouncing off of the tile walls as two others entered the room. Ginny grabbed both Neville and Luna and yanked them along with her into the stall, pulling the door closed behind them as Myrtle took a swan dive into the toilet with a shriek.

Locking it securely, she pressed her face against the narrow space between the door and the hinges which held it in place just in time to see Harry and Tom round the corner and step into the room carrying a wooden box between them.

“-don’t see why you need an _entire_ potion’s kit for this.”

“Just because a box is full of vials doesn’t a potion’s kit make. You know better.” Tom replied, lowering his end of the box onto the floor leaving the raven no choice but to do the same. “The bottles are necessary, as even while keeping most of the venom for ourselves in light of our impending hunt a 60 foot Basilisk leaves one with quite a lot of material to be dealing with.”

“You really expect there to be anything left of it other than bones, Tom? I killed the bloody thing four years ago now!”

“Even with all of the flooding that’s taken place down there the Chamber of Secrets is much like an ancient Muggle tomb. Not to mention you’ve clearly no idea of the durability of the bodies of certain Dark Creatures.” He opened the lid of the box to quickly check over the contents. “To give you a basic idea, Basilisk venom can remain as potent as the day the beast died for up to 20 years. This is going to be the way I restore my fortune; we’ll need vast resources for the war effort anyway.”

“You really think that one Basilisk is going to be worth that much?”

“Oh, innocent Pet. You’ve no idea of the value of such illicit things as the parts of highly regulated or blatantly illegal creatures on the Black Market and in places like Nocturne Alley.” He chuckled. “The blood is useful in potion making. The venom, obviously, as a dread poison with no cure as not many people make a habit of carrying around Phoenix tears. The horns in wandcraft. The bones as powder in some obscure Rune rituals centered around now mostly forgotten holidays. As for the skin, it’s over 100X more durable than dragon-hide.”

“How much, exactly, do you figure you’ll get for it?” Harry asked as he subconsciously clutched at his upper arm.

“There’s no way to know precisely how much until the deal’s been done, markets change after all, but judging from their rumored worth 50 years ago the venom-which we’ll be selling the least of-is going to be worth the most. We’ll just have to make sure that none of it falls into the hands of anyone connected to the Death Eaters.” He closed the lid of the box and stood up; catching sight of the raven’s posture, the dark brunet stepped over to him. “Love, come here.” Tom pulled the other closer against him and Harry propped his chin against the taller male’s shoulder. “I know you hate this place, and with what happened to you down there I can’t say I blame you, but there’s nothing left in the Chamber of Secrets which can hurt you…provided that the ceiling doesn’t fall on our heads.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from cracking a grin at that.

“I know that it’s not the most ideal place for continuing my lessons and beginning yours, but we’ve been soundly locked out of the Room of Requirement so we have little other choice.” He gently tugged him over to the sink. “You should open it, love.”

“This was your idea, Tom.”

“Yes, it was, but I still think you should do it Precious.” He buried his face in the other’s wild black hair and they almost didn’t catch what he said next. “You’re sexy when you speak Parseltongue.”

“Leave it to you to have a snake-language kink.”

The dark brunet barked a laugh. “Oh, darling, if only you knew _precisely_ how many kinks I have.” He hissed something further in Parseltongue, prompting the raven to hiss at the sink in turn and reveal the passage into the hidden chamber.

Tom made a show of shivering as he stepped up to the ledge. “You don’t do that _nearly_ enough.” Without hesitation he leapt into the hole and vanished from sight. For his part Harry was much more hesitant to follow, but only hung back a few moments before vanishing into the hole as well.

Once the sink had ground back into place, the three emerged from the cramped stall and stepped back onto the bathroom’s main floor.

“We’ll need to get out of here, before they come back.”

The other two both nodded and followed her out of the abandoned bathroom without another word.

 

“If anything, that shoot has only gotten filthier.” Tom noted rather dryly as soon as Harry landed with a clattering crash amidst the pile of bones sitting at the bottom of the entrance to the Chamber.

“What did you expect? It’s not as if the House Elves know about this place, and I doubt that the Basilisk was of half a mind to clean.” The raven scrambled to his feet as soon as he could get them back under himself, regarding his slime-covered robes with mild disgust.

“Need you be so snarky with your points, Precious?” Tom levitated the box of vials he’d insisted on bringing with them and then pointed his wand at Harry. “Tergeo!”

The slime vanished from his robes, leaving them as spotless as they had been prior to his foray down the ancient slide.

“Thanks.”

“Of course. Can’t have you looking like a filthy street cretin, now can I?” he snorted, setting off down the passageway. Harry rolled his eyes before following after him. Neither spoke again until they came to the only partially cleared cave-in about halfway to the serpent-door portcullis. “My word, what happened here?”

“Our incompetent then Defense-Against-the-Dark-Arts teacher’s rebounded Memory Charm.” He told him. “Gilderoy Lockhart was a complete fraud-possibly the only bit of magic he _could_ perform was Obliviate, and he used that to take credit for the achievements of other witches and wizards-and I’d be willing to bet that the only reason Professor Dumbledore hired him at all was to out him as such.” Harry said as he began to scale the slope of fallen rock. “When Ginny was taken down into the Chamber the other Professors all turned to him, but if Ron and I hadn’t caught him when we did he’d have bolted like the bloody coward he really was. Once we got him down here he swooned and stole Ron’s wand, but he didn’t realize that the wand he’d stolen had been malfunctioning through the entire year due to being broken. When he tried to cast the Memory Charm on me it rebounded and threw him against the ceiling.”

“Causing it to come down.” Tom finished, joining Harry atop the pile of boulders. “Where is he now?”

“Last I saw of him was last year, in St.Mungo’s Ward for Serious Mental Maladies.”

The dark brunet snorted, descending the opposite side of the pile with a dancer’s grace. “Serves him right.”

Harry reflected the sentiment but was far too busy trying not to fall to say anything further on the matter. Tom offered him his hand to help him down from atop the last boulder and the two continued down the remainder of the passageway towards the portcullis.

“So that elf of yours is going to be able to help us move the parts? You’re certain?” he asked as they stood together, watching the metal serpent slither around the perimeter of the sealed door.

“Almost certain.” Harry said as they stepped up over the second threshold. “Kreacher is a bloody horrible Elf and it’s his fault that Sirius died, but I inherited him so he has to obey my orders. I’d rather ask Dobby to do it for us, but given that he’s both technically in the employ of the school and possessed of a fairly…unique idea of the meaning of the phrase ‘helping Harry Potter’ I figured Kreacher would be a safer bet.”

“You may be right about that. We don’t need more malfunctioning Bludgers.”

The main antechamber blossomed out before them, the snake-adorned pillars and cavernous vaulted ceiling disappeared upwards into the green-tinted gloom. At the far end of the Chamber, lying in the shallow water at the feet of Salazar Slytherin’s massive statue was the slain body of the Basilisk.

Looking exactly as it had on the day it had died.

Harry hung back, but Tom didn’t hesitate in the least as he moved forwards towards the dread serpent’s fallen body. The dark brunet walked a half-circle around the monster’s gigantic head, clucking his tongue at the extent of the damage.

“Did a number on her, didn’t you?” he chuckled, running his fingertips across the thorny scales which adorned the ridge over one mutilated eye. “No mercy.”

“It was trying to kill me!” His footsteps made soft splashing sounds as he moved slowly closer through the thin layer of water coating the floor.

“I’m not admonishing you, pet. As a matter of fact this is a good sign; even moral and light as you are you’re capable of killing when it comes down to it.” Directing his wand at the red-tinged water surrounding the giant corpse he began to siphon the blood into the first of numerous vials. “We’ll leave the skull and most of the fangs; may need them later to destroy any Horcruxes we find. The fact that we’ve the venom imbued sword of Gryffindor aside, there may come to be a situation where we’ll need backup.”

Done with the blood, Tom carefully pulled free a couple of the numerous fangs and set them in the box alongside the crimson-filled vials. As he moved on to separating the skin into neat sheets and shrinking the bones Harry made his way over towards the towering statue.

Salazar Slytherin’s titanic likeness was reflected in the still water which covered the floor like a mirror, dwarfing his own image considerably in the gently wavering surface. Meditation: that, Tom had informed him, would make up a major part of their Occlumancy training. He’d be teaching him to properly clear his mind, and even do so under stress, before ever attempting to breach his defenses but with all of the flooding the prospect of sitting down was not a very welcome one. Harry was hoping to find somewhere dry where they could practice, perhaps a bit of raised floor or a path they could use to climb up onto one of the statue’s feet.

Unfortunately for him he’d forgotten about the submerged passage that the Basilisk had emerged from until the floor vanished from beneath him and his head went under.

Harry flailed, bobbing back up to the surface quickly and spluttering around a mouthful of foul-tasting frigid water. Winded by the cold and blinded by the water flooding down from his soaked raven bangs he cast around in vain for the lip of the passage and latched onto the warm hand which quickly found his shoulder.

“Darling, had I known you so desired to go for a swim I’d have taken you down to the Black Lake again.” Tom snickered, hauling him up out of the drink and summoning a towel with a flick of his wand. “Here. Use this until I can get you into a hot shower; we’ll worry about our lessons and sales later. Call your elf friend, please. The one who works for the school. We’ll have him take us to the Gryffindor showers; the last thing we need is a trail of water leading Filch straight to us in spite of your cloak.”

“I can’t be sure he’ll c-come when called, Tom. I’m not his Master.”

“If he’s at all like how you’ve described him, he’ll come.” Tom said. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t deny that much, especially while shivering so hard that almost all mental thought process was halted. “D-D-Dobby.” His teeth were chattering so badly that he nearly cut his tongue off.

With a small pop and a shrill shriek of “ _Harry Potter, Sirs!”_ Dobby was standing beside them, staring up at them with his tennis-ball sized eyes. “And…and Harry Potter’s boyfriend too; Dobby has heard of Tom Gaunt from some of the other Elves, Sirs.”

“H-Hello, D-Dobby.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well.” Tom said with a small smile. “Harry speaks quite highly of you.”

“Oh, Harry Potter is Dobby’s greatest friend; it is all because of Harry Potter that Dobby is a free Elf! What can I do to help you, Sirs?”

“Harry wandered into the only three foot by five foot portion of flooding that was deeper than three inches and is now, as I’m sure you can see, soaked through.” Tom told him, sparing the raven from having to battle with his chills in order to audibly speak. “I’m worried that he’s going to get sick if he doesn’t warm up soon, but since it’s after curfew we can’t risk walking through the hallways ourselves and leaving a trail of water behind. Can you take us up to the Gryffindor showers?”

“Of course, Sirs. Dobby is happy to help.” The Elf squeaked, holding out his small hands. “I’ll take you both up to the showers right away.”

“T-T-Thanks Dobby.”

“Quite. Thank you.”

With a loud cracking sound the Chamber of Secrets was replaced with the shower room attached to Gryffindor tower.

“Anything else, Sirs?”

“For now, no. But we’ll call for you immediately should we think of something.”

With that assurance made the House Elf bowed low and disappeared. Tom didn’t waste an instant in beginning to wrestle him out of his soaked clothing.

“Tom, he-hey!”

“We need to get you out of these before you come down with an illness! Or would you rather be forced to sit out the coming Quidditch match: I doubt our House would be pleased.”

“I c-can do it myself, you don’t need to manh-handle me!” Harry complained, pulling himself free of Tom’s grip and beginning to uncoil the wet fabric of his shirt from where it had caught around his head and neck.

“By your leave, then.” Tom left him to struggle with his clothes and went to turn on the shower.

Free of the cling of wet fabric Harry bolted passed him into the shower and closed the curtains swiftly behind. The warm steam and hot water hitting his frozen chest was a welcome relief. Washing away the cold and the residual green-tinged water. The hissing of the pipes in the walls and the pattering of the water against the tile floor drowned out the sound of the curtain being pulled open and then closed again.

He yelped in surprise when Tom pulled him back against his naked chest, wrapping his long arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his hair.

“Mmm.” He purred. “You smell like stagnant water, love.”

“I wonder why.” Harry grumbled, giving up after a short attempt to shake him off and returning his attention to the shower. “What are you doing in here, Tom?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your efforts to play innocent fall quite flat, Riddle!”

“Why do you think that I’m playing innocent, pet?”

“Because you said that we were coming up here so that I could warm up with a shower!”

“Did I ever say I wouldn’t be joining you, love?” Tom grinned at him as Harry threw a glare over his shoulder and reached for a nearby bottle of shampoo. “Just relax. I’ll warm you up.”

“Tom-.”

“Hush!” He chided, pouring a generous amount of shampoo over the smaller male’s head before examining the bottle. “Sandalwood? Who picks these out?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only if one _doesn’t_ want to smell like a girl; did you notice that, the other day, the scent was Rosewater or did you just use it?” his black hair quickly disappeared beneath a cloud of white bubbles. “Close your eyes.” He commanded. “Tip your head back.”

The hot water washed the lather of bubbles down the drain at their feet. Harry shook out his black hair, playfully splattering Tom with water. The taller male aimed a mild glare at him in response to his childish behavior as he tugged him around and backed him against the cold wall.

“Now that you’re passably clean,” his voice had taken on a husky tone, dark eyes almost black with desire, “you and I can have a bit of fun. Take advantage of the situation. And no need to worry that someone might here us; I’m able to properly prepare for this sort of thing now that I’m aware of the fact that you’re a screamer.”

Before Harry could respond the dark brunet’s mouth descended hungrily upon his, hands pulling him closer by the hips and gripping his waist hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises behind. Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s broad shoulders to keep himself safely upright and tangled his fingers in wet curls.

“I know you like biting,” he managed to get out around a flurry of shorter kisses, “but maybe try not to leave quite so many marks this time.”

“Whatever happened to ‘let them talk’?”

“’Let them talk’ is not the same as ‘tickle the dragon’.”

“Fine, love, if it will make you happy,” Tom murmured against the column of his throat. “I’ll do better with hiding them this time.”

“Rid-mnph!”

Tom admired the cherry-red bite mark he’d left in the center of his chest for a few moments before smirking up at him. “I’ll only leave a few, since I know you’ll be changing in front of the Quidditch team before they’ll have a chance to completely fade and we wouldn’t want to advertise our nocturnal activities _too much_ now would we?”

“You’d leave me head-to-toe in ‘love bites’ if you had your way, just like last time!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Precious. The sounds that you make when I mark you are really quite sinful.” Having made sure that the three hickies he’d deemed permissible to make were to his satisfaction, Tom returned his attention to playfully nipping at his neck and lips. “Now, this won’t be any different than last time,” he said gently, securing Harry’s right leg around his waist. “Just relax and hold onto me, I won’t let you fall.”

“We’re really going to do this in the showers?”

“Of course; it’s the perfect place to bugger since you don’t have to move to clean up afterwards.” Tom smirked as he carefully worked one graceful finger into him. “Would you rather that we do it in the dorms? Leave it to the ‘Chosen One’ to act so coy but really have an exhibitionist kink.”

“I do _not_ have an exhibitionist kink!”

“Oh, never fear my love. I’ve more than enough kinkiness to go around.”

“Just shut up and shag me!”

A lustful growl rumbled from Tom’s muscular chest as he secured Harry’s other leg around his waist, forcing the smaller male to cling to the other in order to avoid falling over. “Oh, my love, I thought that you would _never_ ask.”

The familiar pinch of the other pushing into him returned though it was not as sharp nor as long-lived as it had been at the Leaky Cauldron. Tom pressed him tightly against the wall and used the leverage to his advantage to push deeper into his body provoking a litany of whimpers and breathless squeaks from the younger raven, mixing with the low grunts of his partner and the splashing of the falling water.

By the time Tom was through with him he was soaked in sweat and unable to stand on his own but was no longer even slightly cold.

“Seems you’re having problems keeping your feet, Precious; next time, I suppose, I’ll have to restrain myself from ravaging you until we’re in a position where you can lay down immediately afterwards.” He snickered, propping him up under the stream of water. “Relax: I’ve got you. We’ll get ourselves cleaned up and head to bed.”

After cleaning themselves up to a satisfactory point, the taller male helped Harry keep his balance as they stepped out of the shower.

“…Seems we have an unforeseen problem, Precious.” Tom summoned two more towels and passed one to the raven. “My clothes are dirty and yours are dirty _and_ wet. Seems we’ll have to make a break for our trunks in nothing but these towels. Don’t give me a dirty look, darling. Hard as it may be for you to believe, I didn’t arrange this.”

With how late it was it was unlikely that anyone would see them anyway and with that fact in mind, Harry followed his smirking boyfriend out of the shower room and up the stairs towards their dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shower sex. Happy Holidays.


	33. Declaration of War

“Excited, Poppet?” Tom asked him, reaching for the nearest pitcher of pumpkin juice to refill his glass. “I know that you love to fly and that it’s been quite a while since you’ve last played a real game of Quidditch. The weather looks like it’s going to be all right as far as conditions are concerned; clear.”

“I’m looking forward to playing again, yeah.” Harry’s gaze was focused on his plate. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Love, it’s been two days. You should be perfectly fine with sitting on a broom by now- _ouch!”_ Tom pouted him and rubbed his upper arm where the raven had thumped him. “Merlin, I was only kidding. Quite the arm on you, Precious.”

“Boys.” Hermoine said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Ron was too busy attempting to drown himself in his glass to notice.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s nervous about playing; one would think that winning the last game last year would’ve given him a boost to his confidence but apparently not.” She quipped. “It certainly doesn’t help that we’re playing Slytherin and they’re warranted to begin singing ‘Weasley is our King’ again.”

“Heckling? How unsightly; completely unsporting! They ought to be ashamed of themselves! They’d be caned for acting so improper were my ancestor still alive, I’m sure.” He looked over at Harry. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m Quidditch Captain this year, Tom, but I wasn’t at Hogwarts all last semester so I’m concerned that my model-which we’ve used at our last few practices-may not be accurate. We could potentially be setting ourselves up for failure.”

“I’m sure you’ll come out on top, Precious. Just concern yourself with finding and catching the snitch.”

“And where will you be? Hold up in the common room working on another project for Arithmancy or Ancient Runes?”

“I, my love, will be in the stands cheering you on just like the majority of the school. I wouldn’t miss it for the world; know why?” He grinned. “Because I love a man in uniform.” When Harry heaved a sigh at that comment, Tom laughed at him. “Slytherin doesn’t stand a chance, Precious. Gryffindor will crush them, just like we’ve a track record of doing, and Hermoine Nagini and I will be in the stands cheering you on.” Between the low hanging table and the raven’s reluctance he was only able to pull Harry halfway into his lap. “I know that you’re Captain, but forget about the others. Forget about their jobs. Mind the Bludgers and find the snitch. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Annoyance at his actions aside, the words had the desired effect and he relaxed against the taller male. “As long as I can catch the snitch quickly, we’ll be fine.”

“Indeed we will.” Tom nuzzled into his hair, messing the raven locks up further. “Do something for me, would you?”

“That depends.”

“Keep your uniform on after the game, please. If we win, we’ll celebrate. And if we lose I’ll make you forget.”

Hermoine closed her book and stood up. “Just be safe, would you?”

“Merlin, Hermoine!” Ron spluttered on Harry’s behalf as the raven gaped at her in horror.

Tom tugged him closer and sent her a mild glare. “Neither of us can get pregnant and I am _not_ diseased.”

“It’s still a good practice, boys.” She told them. “Now, it’s about time for the two of you to be heading down to the pitch so you have enough time to change into your uniforms without risking being late. You and I should head back to the common room and get Nagini before heading down to the stands.”

“Well, alright then.” The dark brunette allowed Harry to squirm off of his lap and both got up from the table. “I’ll let you to head down to the pitch now. See you soon, my darling.”

Harry took Ron by the arm and began pulling his still obviously nervous friend out of the Great Hall. Ginny threw a glare at him before following the two out.

“It’s been about two weeks now since the incident with Cho.” Hermoine said as they headed up the grand staircase. “Has Ginny given either of the two of you more trouble? Because if she has, I can talk to her.”

“And you think that your status as a Prefect would somehow assuage her jealous crazy?”

“It’s not so much that I’m a Prefect as that I’m also a woman and perhaps have a better insight into how she feels than you or Harry would.”

“You may be right about that; I find it believable as one thing I never understood despite my incredible intelligence was woman.” Tom admitted with a small sigh. “Of course, that’s not to say that I’ve been having further problems with her; Neville and Luna seemed to be doing an admirable job distracting her. A lucky thing, too, because the morning after he learned about the content of my conversation with Cho I had to talk Precious down.” He shook his head and smirked. “So very passionate, my lion. And quite protective of his friends.”

“You seem to be good for each other.”

“Believe me, Ms. Granger, he’s far better for me than I am for him. He keeps me from succumbing to my crazy. I keep him from… Being single?” Tom shrugged. “Whatever works.”

“If she starts to give you any more trouble, Tom, come to me right away and I’ll put a stop to it. No matter her feelings, Ginny doesn’t have a right to be interfering with your relationship with Harry.”

“I appreciate the offer, Hermoine, as does Harry-I’m sure-but it’s little more than a storm in a teacup, really. He and I are more than capable of handling the guerrilla tactics of a 15-year-old schoolgirl.” He said as the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open for them. “As a matter of fact, I think she’s already done her worst.”

“If you’re really so certain.” Hermoine didn’t look convinced.

“Both Harry and I have faced greater threats in our lifetime than her. In fact, I’d be willing to classify her attempts at interference with our relationship as little more than a fleeting annoyance at best.” Tom assured her, mounting the dormitory stairs. “I’ll be down just as soon as I’ve bundled up and retrieve Nagini. We can head down to the pitch together.”

“I’ll wait for you down here once I’ve gotten my things together.”

The boy’s dorm was all but empty by the time that he got up there, most everyone having already headed down to the pitch. Neville, however, was in the process of pulling on his gloves.

“Headed down to the match, Longbottom?” Tom didn’t miss the other boy’s start of alarm or the way his pupils dilated fearfully when he saw him. Internally scoffing but dismissing the matter he quickly moved to his bunk to retrieve Nagini and his winter clothing.

“Oh, yeah. What about you?”

He’d gotten considerably better at controlling the tremor in his voice.

“Of course. I know next to nothing about Quidditch and honestly don’t have much of an interest in the sport but Harry is going to be wearing a tight uniform and I wouldn’t miss _that_ for the world.” He said with a wolfish grin, offering his arm to Nagini. “You?”

“I go to every game; most people in Gryffindor do. Support the House, you know?”

“Of course.” Not that he’d ever bothered when he’d been in Slytherin.

“ _Must I come, Master? It’s too cold outside.”_ Nagini complained, regarding his offered arm balefully. “ _I would rather stay here. Where it’s warm.”_

 _“I’ll cast a warming spell on you and let you hide in my scarf. And, if you’d like, I can ask Hermoine to knit you a sweater along with her House Elf hats.”_ He promised. “ _But it’s important to Harry that we be there today. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”_

_“I think he’d understand me not wanting to freeze.”_

_“Nagini.”_

The serpent sighed and then began to crawl up his arm. _“Fine. But I’m staying in your shirt.”_

_“You’re not going to cheer him on with me?”_

_“I’ll cheer him on from inside your shirt.”_

“What… Did your snake say?”

Tom looked up at Neville with a slightly raised eyebrow, having forgotten he was there. “Oh, she’s just upset that I’m making her come out to the pitch with me when it’s so cold out. Even after I promised her a warming charm she wasn’t pleased.” He told him as Nagini slipped beneath his collar and began to coil herself around his chest and torso. “Why don’t you walk down to the pitch with Hermoine and I, since we’re all headed in the same direction anyway.”

“That’s all right, I’m going to be meeting up with Luna and I wouldn’t want to-.”

“Nonsense; the more the merrier! I’m sure that Hermoine would say the same. We can all sit together and watch our star Seeker destroy the competition.” He pulled open the door and began heading down the stairs. “Come along, now. We should get going if we don’t want to be late for the start of the game.”

“Oh, hello Neville. I thought that you would have gone down to the pitch already.” Hermoine said on catching sight of him.

“He was on his way down when I caught him; seems that he was only grabbing his winter clothing, just like the two of us.” Tom said, adjusting the red and yellow coils of his scarf. “I’m sorry that I took so long, Hermoine. Nagini was being a bit difficult on account of the cold.”

“So she’s not coming?”

“No, she’s in my clothes.” A soft hiss accompanied his statement. Hermoine’s eyes widened.

“A snake _that large_ is under your shirt?”

“We’ve had a lot of practice doing it by this point.” He replied with a shrug. “Which reminds me, Harry has told me that you’ve founded a cause which involves freeing House Elves by knitting them clothes?”

“The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare: I wanted to call it Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status but that wouldn’t fit on the badge.” Hermoine said delightedly as they exited the Castle, her eyes lighting up. “Were you interested in joining? The cost is two sickles! Harry and Ron are already Secretary and Treasurer but you could be the Head of Human Relations. You’re very good with people.”

“Oh, I… No, um… I’ll give you the two sickles, I suppose, since a… Recent business deal has left me with considerable resources and… I suppose it’s a noble cause, but… I’d rather not be…” He ran a hand through his dark hair almost nervously. “I really just wanted to know if you could knit Nagini a sweater?”

“O-Oh, of course! I mean, I’ve never heard of a snake sweater before but I suppose it would help her; it is rather cold.” Hermoine said as they reached the wooden stairs which led up to the Gryffindor stands. “I’ll get started on that right away; I’ve a surplus of hats and socks and don’t think I need to make anymore for a while.”

“Thank you. She’ll definitely appreciate it.” He said, glancing over at Neville who had stopped outside the entry of the tower leading up into the stands. “Coming?”

“I’m going to wait here for Luna. We may find the two of you up in the stands later.”

“Suit yourself.” Tom shrugged. “Come on; if we linger any longer we won’t be able to get a seat.”

“We’ll see you later, Neville.”

They began to hike up the wooden stairs which lined the interior of the Gryffindor stands, joining the crush of students who were doing just the same. Voices and thunderous footsteps surrounded them on all sides at a near deafening volume. Red and gold swamped the area. People held banners and small flags which bore the House’s lion standard. By the time they made it to the top of the tower a similar flag had been forced into each of their hands as well.

“This is your first Quidditch game, Tom?” Hermoine asked him as they edged along a near filled to bursting bleacher.

“Yes.” He told her as they each found a seat and sat down. “I’ve never had much interest in sports-they don’t lend themselves to being particularly intellectual activities-but I’m aware of the basics of how Quidditch works. That’s only because of Harry, however; had he any less of an interest in it I never would’ve bothered. Exploding Snap is the same way.”

“You learned how to play Exploding Snap because Harry was interested in the game?”

“I did.” He replied, smirking at the memory of their first and only game. “And all of my effort was rewarded with a couple hours of unconsciousness and an ensuing bugger of a headache: we both went for the same card and head-butted each other. I love him dearly, really I do, but his head is _extremely_ hard.”

Hermoine snickered at him. “All three of you are hardheaded.”

“Indeed we are; you and Nagini-as the two girls in our group-have your work cut out for you.” Tom leaned back on his hands and crossed his ankles in front of him. “I’m worried about the match given his history: how prone Precious is to disaster is enough to give anyone a conniption. First year: bucking broomstick induced by Dark Lord possessed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Second year: Elf-inserted homicidal Bludger. Third year: Dementors and a couple hundred foot fall. Fourth year: Tri-Wizard Tournament so no Quidditch, but that’s a whole other matter altogether! Fifth year: banned. For fighting on the pitch.” He shook his head. “Merlin, I hope that nothing goes wrong this time.”

“We both do.”

The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams moved on to the pitch and the snitch was released. Harry stepped up to the massive Captain of the green and silver team and shook his hand. They were then ordered up onto their brooms and allowed to ascend into the air; when the Quaffel was tossed up to them the game began in earnest. The Quaffel went to one of the Chasers on the Slytherin team who shot off towards the Gryffindor goalposts where Ron hovered, the green and silver stands bellowing the song Weasley is our King at the top of their lungs. One of the Gryffindor Beaters sent a Bludger rocketing towards the Chaser holding the Quaffel, missing them but causing it to drop into the hands of the Gryffindor team for the first goal.

The stands around him exploded with wild cheers and something behind them emitted a realistic lion roar. The announcer shouted animatedly into the enchanted microphone and even some of the Professors -most notably Professor McGonagall-were cheering. But none of that registered on Tom.

His eyes were focused on the lithe form of his raven as he sat astride his broom, clad in the red and gold uniform which clung close against his skin and his dark hair was wild with the wind’s touch. He soared with the ease of a bird circling a warm-up draft as he scanned the pitch for any signs of the snitch, handling his Firebolt with a familiar ease which would never cease to impress him.

He definitely had to get around to teaching him how to properly fly. Let the other team’s Seekers try and catch him then.

Malfoy circled below him, silver eyes darting from his rival, to the pitch, to the stand where the Professors sat seemingly unable to focus solely on the game at hand. Tom’s dark gaze caught a glint of gold towards the base of the Hufflepuff stands the same moment that Harry plummeted after it, Malfoy quick to pull level with his tail. The occupants of every stand rose to their feet and leaned forwards to peer over the sides of the respective towers and get a better look at the race of speed and maneuvering going on below them. It was swift and chaotic and over in a flash; the snitch feigned left and then darted upward. Draco fell for the maneuver, nearly plowing into Harry in his rush to cut it off only to have the raven’s hand snatch the golden ball from the air and end the game.

“ _And the match goes to Gryffindor!”_

Tom was moving towards the entrance of the stairwell before the cheering had even had a chance to die down and was one of the first of a number of students who ventured down to the pitch to congratulate the winning team.

“And the great Captain of Lion House returns victorious from his battle with the serpents.” When Harry turned towards him with the snitch still clutched in his fist the dark brunette offered a cockeyed grin. “I told you that you’d be fine, Precious.”

“Tom.” Harry smiled back as the taller male pulled him into his arms.

“I suppose that it will be a celebration we’ll be having, once we find ourselves alone?” The kiss was swift and chaste, especially by Tom’s standards, but was still enough to make him release the snitch in surprise.

A few of the surrounding players tittered. Ginny scowled. But all attention turned away from them quickly when a familiar voice drawled “flaunting your relationship with another man as if it were a point of pride, Potter? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given the company you keep: Mudbloods and Blood Traitors and Half Breeds.”

“Funny that the one unable to take a hint from a metal ball is talking: if you can’t predict the basic movements of the snitch there’s no way in hell you’d be able to comprehend the complicated facets of a relationship.” Tom replied, face pulling up into a vicious grin. “Not to mention that the poor thing seems to forgotten exactly how hard he literally had it for me back at platform 9 ¾.” The Gryffindor team surrounding them all laughed.

Draco turned bright red, silver eyes narrowing. “My father will hear about this!”

“Deliver mail in Azkaban, do they?”

The Malfoy heir lunged at him but Crab and Goyle-in what was probably the greatest show intelligence either of them had ever performed in their entire lives-grabbed him by the arms to pull him back. “You’ll pay for this. Both you and Potter!” Tom only laughed at his bared teeth and repeated efforts to break free.

Harry tried to stop him from advancing but he ignored the raven’s grip on his arm; Crab and Goyle exchanged confused glances as he approached, not sure what to do, until he stood directly in front of the struggling Slytherin.

“Let me give you a bit of advice, little Dragon,” the sibilant tone had returned and his dark eyes were sharp. “I suggest that you stop pretending to be a Dark Wizard because you’re playing with the big boys now, and your posturing will eventually catch up with you. I only hope I’ll be there to see the day it happens because you more than deserve to be put in your place.”

Catching sight of the approaching Heads of both Gryffindor and Slytherin House he stepped back from him and tugged Harry against his side. “Come on, Precious. The last thing either of us needs is for you to get banned again, especially for something you didn’t do.”

“We can’t just leave, Tom!”

“Course we can, we’ve done nothing wrong and McGonagall’s not trying to stop us.” He replied flippantly as he continued dragging him towards the exit of the pitch. “Why? Would you rather stay and watch the fireworks over getting a cup of cocoa from the kitchens to chase away the cold and canoodling with me somewhere private?”

“I…” Harry threw one last glance over his shoulder at the group they’d left behind only to find that his teammates had begun to disperse. “Alright. Since it really does seem like we are needed.”

“Perfect.” Tom trailed, picking up speed. “Quickly, now. While we’ve still most of the day to burn.”

 

Pigwidgeon brought the long-awaited package to her just as lunch was coming to an end. Neville glanced over as she ripped it open and peered inside.

“What’s that?”

“Joke supplies. From my brothers, Fred and George.” She told him, pulling out the items inside and examining them closely. “I told him we’d be using them on Slytherin’s but we’re really going to be using it on Riddle to make him as miserable as possible.”

“What are these things?” He asked, picking up the nearest object.

“Careful, that’s a boxing telescope. If you squeeze it, it’ll punch you and the black eyes can’t be removed without a special cream. Hermoine was on the wrong end of one this past summer.” She said, pulling out the letter that had been sent with the supplies. “We’ve got some of the fireworks that they used during their grand exit last year-Catherine wheels and bottle rockets-the boxing telescope, an Aviatomobile, and a demon box. They sent instructions.”

“And you’re really going to use these against him? Are you sure that’s safe? What if he retaliates?”

“He won’t be able to, Neville. We aren’t going to be open about the use of these and even if he suspects that we are responsible he won’t be able to act against us without counting himself as what he really is. His mask already slipped earlier with Malfoy.” She began stuffing the objects back into the box that they’d been sent in before anyone else could see them. “You weren’t on the field when it happened, but his voice and the way he looked at him… It was exactly what you’d expect from a Dark Lord. And that’s saying nothing of what he said.”

“Do you think that it’s safe for us to be leaving Harry alone with him, Ginny?”

“No. But there’s nothing we can do about them running off together for the time being. The best thing we can do for Harry is to buckle down in outing him.” She said, closing up the box and standing up. “I’m going to go put this up in my dorm. Don’t forget that we’re meeting with Luna to question Hagrid in ten minutes.”

“I remember; we’ll meet you outside.”

Ginny left the Great Hall quickly with the box tucked under her arm and made her way up to Gryffindor tower. Harry and Tom were off who knew where and her brother and Hermoine were both still down at lunch. She slid the box of joke supplies under her bed and headed out to the front steps of the Castle to find both Neville and Luna already waiting for her.

“Hopefully Hagrid isn’t out doing work around the grounds.” Ginny said as they started down the side of the hill towards the Half-Giant’s hut.

“Or messing around with something that bites.” Luna said.

Smoke coiled from the crooked chimney which clung to the hut’s shingled roof. The deep guttural barking of the Grounds-keeper’s massive dog echoed from inside almost the instant that they knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Hagrid’s massive form.

“Ginny. And Luna and Neville, too. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello, Hagrid.” Ginny said, smiling up at him. “We came down because we wanted to talk. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Course not. Come right in, all three of you! I just made a pot of tea!” He moved aside to allow them into the hut. As the trio sat down at the massive kitchen table the Ground’s-keeper went about pouring them all a cup of tea. Fang quieted down now that they were through the door and went back to lay by the fire.

“How’s your brother and Hermoine? And what’s Harry up to these days?” He boomed, loping over to the table with four cups of tea in his massive hands. “I know you must be busy, what with being the Quidditch Captain of the House this year and with his new relationship.” Hagrid chuckled, his beetle black eyes sparkling behind his wiry hair. “About time if you ask me. If anyone deserves to be happy it’s him, with all he’s been through.”

“His boyfriend is why we’re here, Hagrid. We have… Concerns.”

“Concerns? What about? I mean, sure, Gaunt’s a bit of an oddball from time to time with some of the things he says and has a hair-trigger protectiveness of him which could rival an Occamy in heat but Harry could do a lot worse. Of course we all know that he has better taste and better sense than that.”

“We’re actually here about Tom.” Neville piped up.

“He isn’t who he says he is, and Harry is in danger. But you can help us stop whatever it is that the bastard plans on doing with him.” Ginny said, ignoring the cup of tea in front of her. “What can you tell us about Tom Riddle?”

“Tom Gaunt and Tom Riddle are not the same person! Not in the slightest! It isn’t possible: even if he was able to retain his youth to the degree that he has Thomas Marvolo Riddle didn’t have an apology in him for anyone, let alone for someone like me. Even if the one that came out of Gaunt seemed more painful than the act of pulling a Gnargle’s teeth and made about as much sense as a drunken goblin. Not to mention that Albus Dumbledore would’ve never allowed him to set one foot near Harry, let alone enter on to the grounds of Hogwarts if he were.”

“But-.”

“What happened to you aside, Ginny, you simply don’t know who Tom Riddle really was. He was a monster and a manipulator, sure, but he tricked everyone around him, not just students. Only Dumbledore was able to see through him. He got me expelled, you know. Framed me for opening the Chamber of Secrets and nearly got Arragog killed-a good spider, Arragog. Harry and your brother met him: left a real impression, he did-and went on to slander me by saying I was raising werewolf pups under my bed and going out into the Forbidden Forest to wrestle with trolls. He was pretty and good with words but on the inside he wasn’t just rotten, he was empty: didn’t have a heart at all. He thought so little of love that he wouldn’t even have used it as a tool for manipulation, and for someone like him that’s saying something. With everything that You-Know-Who has done that ought to be obvious to everyone. I understand why you’d be worried about Harry, he’s practically a part of your family by now, but you’re overreacting. He’s been through enough without adding someone interfering with his personal life into the mix. You leave their relationship well alone.”

“Thank you, Hagrid, for telling us what you have. But we need to be getting back.” The legs of her chair scraped against the floor as she stood up. “Are you two ready to go?”

“Oh, yes, I’m ready.” Luna said. “Thank you for the tea.”

Neville simply nodded his tea, like Ginny’s, left untouched.

“Oh, well, it was nice to see the three of you I suppose. Tell Harry Ron and Hermoine that they’re welcome to come by at any time, provided Harry can pull himself away from Tom for long enough for the two of them to walk down to my hut.”

“Goodbye, Hagrid.”

The door swung shut behind them.

“Well,” Luna said as they dismounted the stairs, “that could have gone better.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny replied, setting off back up the hill. “We’ve learned more about Tom Riddle than we knew before, information which we can potentially use. And that means we’re one step closer to getting rid of him.”


	34. Opening Move

Classes had come to an end little over an hour before and despite the approach of dinner the Gryffindor common room was boisterous and full. It had been a very busy day after a particularly miserable Sunday filled with studying and catching up on his neglected schoolwork but in the end, he supposed dazedly, it had been worth it because he was finally through with all of his current assignments and could afford to do nothing. Harry sat beside Tom on one of the many floor pillows, his head resting on the dark brunet’s strong shoulder and his back resting against the couch behind them, occupied by their two other companions. Nagini had happily coiled herself up on the faded rug in front of the fire and looked by now to have fallen asleep.

Harry himself felt close to doing the same. He could hear Tom’s pulse and the soft sounds of his breathing, the occasional turn of the pages of _The Aeneid_ which he had taken to studiously deciphering whenever he had the time, the clicking of Hermoine’s knitting needles and the frantic scratching of Ron’s quill as he struggled to finish the Potion’s essay that Harry had blessedly completed almost 24 hours before. It was all very relaxing, despite the surrounding louder noise of talk and laughter from the housemates and as he sat there staring into the flickering fire he felt himself beginning to drift. His mind wandering.

The war was over. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were gone, though their terrible deeds had not yet been forgotten and would take considerable time still to heal completely. The room was dark and cozy, warmed by the light of the fire in the stone hearth not far in front of them. Stars shone outside the window and a wild owl hooted as it drifted through silver moon shadow across the corner of their line of sight. Tom sat beside him, so close that he could feel the heat of his skin through the clothing they both wore. His face, as usual, buried in his rampant raven locks as he cradled the hand which bore their engagement ring in both his own as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“There!” The suddenness of Hermoine’s voice made them both jump, shaking Harry out of his light sleep and banishing the image back to the realm of dreams as she held up her latest creation and shook it out proudly. “All finished. And it only took me two days.”

“Uh, Hermoine,” Harry asked, his voice still somewhat thick from sleep, “what, exactly, is that?”

To him, it looked like a massive lilac tube which tapered slightly and was open on both ends.

“This, Harry, is a sweater.”

“A sweater?” Ron repeated, looking the woolen tube up and down. “What kind of House Elf has no arms and is over six feet tall?”

“It’s not for a House Elf, it’s for Nagini.” Tom said, closing his book and calling the serpent over. Nagini uncoiled herself from where she’d settled on the rug and slithered up to him. “Thank you, Hermoine.”

“Of course; it’s nice to know that _someone_ appreciates my skill at sewing.” She looked pointedly at both Harry and Ron as Tom held the smaller end open for Nagini to crawl through. “I put a warming charm on it as well, in case it gets really cold. I hope that it fits.”

“It fits perfectly. Seems to be just the right size, though she’ll have to take it off when she eats.”

“ _That’s nice.”_

Both Tom and Harry cracked a smile at the serpent’s contented hiss.

“She loves it.” He told her as, now with her sweater in tow, Nagini went back to her spot on the rug. “Now she’ll be able to come with us to future winter Quidditch games without having to hide in my shirt. Which reminds me,” Tom turned his attention to Harry, “has she asked you what a golden snitch tastes like yet?”

“Why would Nagini be asking me about what a snitch tastes like?”

“Back when I was looking over _Quidditch Through the Ages_ she commented about how she thought the snitch looked like a bird and asked me if I thought that it would taste like one-I don’t-but I told her to ask you because you’re the only person that I know who has ever had one in your mouth.”

“It tastes exactly like what you’d expect?”

“Magic?”

“Metal.” Harry told him flatly.

Tom laughed with his usual grin on his face. “Hear that, Nagini? Snitches don’t taste like birds.”

The serpent’s hissed reply was drowned out by a high pitched buzzing sound. Moments later the dark brunet flinched, his hand flying to the side of his head where he’d been struck. “Ouch! Wha-?” the little buzzing object sailed in a wide arc and came at him again, dodging the swat that was aimed at it and ramming into his forehead.

Tom was on his feet seconds later with his wand in his hands; Hermoine grabbed his wrist before he could cast anything.

“You can’t just start lobbing spells around in here, especially with how crowded the common room is.” She said. “You’ll hit someone!”

“While what do _you_ suggest I do about it?” Tom grated out, dodging his flying attacker and subsequently almost falling over the nearby low lying table. “Let that _thing_ , whatever the bloody hell it is, continue to attack me?”

In an impressive display of cat-like reflexes Harry caught the flying object as it came back around for another pass. Clenched in his fist, it continued to make a whirring buzzing sound similar to that of a swarm of angry bees for a few moments more before falling silent.

Once relatively sure that it wouldn’t go back on the attack again, Harry opened his fist to reveal the object sitting in his palm. An almost perfect replica of the Ford Angelia that he and Ron had used to get to Hogwarts in their second year down to the color of the paint which covered it, shrunk down to the size of one of the Hot Wheels cars Dudley had often played with in his earlier years.

“What is that thing?” Tom asked, rubbing his forehead where he’d been struck. “Aside from evil?”

“No idea.” Harry said.

“That’s an Aviatomobile. One of Fred and George’s joke supplies that they sell in Diagon Alley.” Ron leaned forwards in his seat to get a closer look at the car. “It’s one of their newer items: you can set it to attack one person and it’ll go after them until it’s interfered with.”

“Give it to me,” Hermoine didn’t wait for him to reply before taking it out of his hand. “I’ll get rid of it later on tonight. For now we should all be heading down to dinner.”

“Food is probably a good idea. I just hope that we don’t come back to something more nefarious than that flying contraption.” He bent and picked up his dropped copy of _The Aeneid_ from where it had fallen open on the floor. “Think that you can make it down there to the Great Hall, my love? You seemed to be dozing off a few minutes ago.”

“I think that I can make it down to the Great Hall, yes. And if I can’t, then you can carry me.”

“Don’t tempt me, Precious.” Tom warned, setting the ancient book carefully down on the table that he’d almost tripped over only moments before. “My one true desire is to sweep you off your feet. If I’m presented with the chance to do so literally, I _will_ take it.”

Nagini coiled herself around his shoulders as they headed towards the portrait hole.

“That would be interesting to see, especially given what the reactions of Malfoy and the Slytherins are bound to be.” Ron said with a smirk. “What you did to that bloody sot the other day was brilliant, by the way. The face he made in response to your Azkaban comment was priceless!”

“You brought up the fact that his father is in Azkaban?”

“Don’t sound scandalized as if Tom was out to antagonize him Hermoine! He was only responding to the comments that Malfoy was making about his and Harry’s relationship.”

“And he’s lucky that Tom didn’t do worse than talk down to him, given the fact that he threatened both of us.”

“I’m protective by nature, and you know this well enough Precious, but I’m able to control myself when necessary.” One arm wound around Harry’s waist as they started down the grand staircase. “Draco Malfoy should not rest on his laurels, however. I don’t allow those who threaten what truly matters to me to get away with it as he will soon find out. The moment that I find a chance to get back at him to be presented, I’m going to take it.”

“You can’t make threats against other students in front of us, Tom! Ron and I are Prefects.”

“I don’t make threats, Ms. Granger.” He replied calmly as they settled down on one of the benches which lined the Gryffindor table. “I make promises. And I am the type of man who _always_ makes sure to keep his promises.”

“Harry!” Hermoine turned to him with a resigned glint in her eyes. “Don’t let him do something that will get you both in trouble.”

“Tom knows how to do things without getting caught, Hermoine. Believe me.”

“You can relax. Dumbledore wouldn’t let me get away with doing much worse than a Bat-bogey hex and if I tried he’d hunt me down.” He said. “I’ve only had limited experiences with detentions, but I’m already certain that I don’t want to become anymore acquainted.”

“Harry! Hey, Harry! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you; sorry I didn’t get around to talking to you before now! Can I have a picture of the two of you together? You and your boyfriend?” The blinding flashbulb went off with a hiss and a pop before either of them could say anything. When the green and purple spots finally faded from his vision, Harry was left with the sight of an all too familiar grinning fifth year.

“Hello, Collin.” He said, aware of the note of annoyance which pervaded his voice when he spoke.

“Hello, Collin.” Tom parroted, sounding considerably more amused by the younger Gryffindor. “Fan of yours, Precious?”

“Sort of.” Harry admitted with a shrug. “Something that we can help you with, Collin?”

“I was actually asked to deliver this to you. It’s from Professor Slughorn.” He shifted the weight of the camera in his hands and held out a letter in an emerald envelope. “Also, I was told by Professor Dumbledore to tell the two of you that he would like to see the two of you in his office after dinner.”

“We’ll be there. Just as soon as we’re finished eating.” Tom rolled his eyes and went back to his food.

“Thank you, Collin.”

“See you later, Harry!”

The raven couldn’t entirely conceal his relief when the young Gryffindor scampered away.

“What did Slughorn want with you?” Ron barely managed to get the question out legibly around a mouthful of food. “What’s in the letter?”

“It’s a Slugclub invitation.” Hermoine said. “I received one earlier today. It’s this weekend: you’re expected to bring a partner.”

“A ‘Slugclub’ invitation.” Ron instantly became much less enthusiastic and pouted into his plate. “Oh.”

“I’m sure he probably would have sent you one as well, Tom, but figured that Harry would invite you as his partner.”

“I’d certainly hope he would.” Tom said with a smirk. “If my darling felt the need to invite someone else in order to get some space from me, well, then that would make me a bad boyfriend wouldn’t it?”

“You really think I’d choose someone else over you?” Harry asked him. “ _That Halloween party was enough of a horror show **with** you there. I’d rather not think about what one might be like **without** you.” _

“So sweet, my Precious. What have I ever done to deserve you?” Tom chuckled to himself. “If you’re done, love, you and I should head to the Headmaster’s office. Make sure to keep a hold of your invitation.”

“We’ll see the two of you later, then.” Hermoine called as they headed for the doors of the Great Hall. “Just try and make sure that you’re back in the common room by curfew this time.”

“Yes, mother.” Tom drawled.

Harry smirked.

They made their way quickly through the corridors to the Headmaster’s office and, when they knocked on the door at the top of the gargoyle-guarded stairs, Dumbledore’s voice invited them in.

The Headmaster was seated, as was the norm, behind his desk and smiled at both of them when they stepped into the room.

“Good evening, Harry. Tom. It is my understanding that Horace has extended to you an invitation to one of his Slugclub parties. And that he has included a request that all in attendance bring with them a partner?”

Both nodded and Harry held up the invitation which he still had on his person. “We actually just received this at dinner, Sir.” He said. “Why?”

“Because I would like for the two of you to take Professor Slughorn up on his offer. There is an integral piece of information that I would like for you to retrieve from him which will prove invaluable in our hunt for Horcruxes.” Dumbledore told them. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Tom, but the number that you planned to go with was six? Six Horcruxes for a soul divided into a total of seven pieces?”

Tom inclined his head. “It was.”

“Can you tell me what it was about that particular number that was of such interest to you?”

“It’s the most powerful number in the magical world and one of the most widely represented. Seven is the age by which it is believed that a child will manifest signs of having magic. There are seven floors to Hogwarts Castle. A student must attend school-not just at Hogwarts but everywhere in the world-for seven years. A witch or wizard comes of age at the age of 17.” He looked over at Harry with a smirk. “A standard Quidditch team consists of seven players.” Tom returned his gaze to the Headmaster. “And, though such is likely mere coincidence and there was no way that I could have known it at the time that I decided on that number, Precious’ assigned team number just so happens to be seven. I believed that by splitting my soul into seven pieces I would afford for myself a protection which no other force could provide. I now know, of course, that love is stronger still.”

“And what were the six objects which you intended to use as vessels for your Horcruxes?”

“My diary, My family ring, the Locket of Slytherin, the Sword of Gryffindor, the Cup of Hufflepuff and the Diadem of Ravenclaw.” He replied. “Though, considering that the Sword of Gryffindor has both been in a Basilisk’s mouth and is currently hanging on your wall I doubt that my counterpart fully succeeded in that pursuit. As far as potential replacements might go, perhaps…Nagini?”

“Why Nagini?” Harry asked him, taken by surprise.

“Think about it, Precious, and I’m sure that you’ll be able to come up with the same answer that I’m about to give to you.” He said. “Even though I used so mundane an object as my diary to create the first Horcrux, it was still an object which not only already belonged to me but held some sentimental value. Some significance. The only other thing which I can think of that holds any sort of value to him that would make for a passable replacement for one of the items of the Hogwarts Four and, thereby, be deserving of the honor of protecting a shard of himself would be his familiar.”

“Can you even _make_ a living Horcrux?” the very thought was horrifying.

“There is no reason, Harry, to believe it isn’t possible. And, I think, Tom may be right.” Dumbledore told him. “It is true that Voldemort has an almost unnatural amount of control over her. Even for a Parselmouth. Her being a Horcrux could be one explanation as to why.”

“But what does any of this have to do with Professor Slughorn?” Tom asked.

“You remember, Tom, when you told me that the reason you had not yet created a Horcrux was because there were questions you still had about the potential stability of your ultimate goal?” Dumbledore rose from behind his desk and crossed the room towards the cabinet where the Pensive was housed, pulling it open and beginning to sort through the shelves of crystal vials which Harry knew to house memories. “It was to Horace that Voldemort turned to get the answers that you lacked. And of that fact he is not proud.”

“He turned to the _Potion’s Master_ for answers? Why?” Tom demanded, seemingly incensed. “I know that he was unbelievably simple to play, but the Dark Arts wasn’t in his realm of expertise. I would have turned to Merrythought; being the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at the time, she would have been much more qualified to speak on such matters.”

“Qualified? Perhaps not. But it is precisely because of the ease of manipulation that he went to Horace.” Dumbledore picked up one of the vials furthest to the back, uncorked it and poured it into the Pensive. “And the memory of that meeting will be what the two of you shall be viewing tonight. If you would both step up to the Pensive, please?”

The dark brunet and the raven both glanced at each other before doing as they were told. Harry stepped up to one side of the Pensive and Tom stepped up to the other and, after another moment further, both fell forwards into the past.

Tom sat around a round table with a small group of boys, including a few members of the Knights of Walpurgis. At the head of the table, a box of near blindingly yellow crystalized pineapple open in front of him, sat Slughorn. Dressed just as Harry remembered him being back in 1942 and with the same smug smile on his face.

“Sir,” the memory of a young Voldemort piped up suddenly. “Is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?”

“Oh, Tom,” Slughorn chuckled, reaching into the box with stubby fingers. “I couldn’t tell you if I knew, now could I? Thank you for the pineapple, by the way. You’re quite right, they are my favorite.” He paused for a moment before adjusting his position in his chair. “But how did you know?”

The memory of Tom made a small shrugging motion before replying “intuition.”

Seemingly almost unnerved, the Potion’s Master glanced over at the nearby clock which hung on the wall. Catching sight of the time, his gooseberry eyes widened in surprise.

“Good gracious, is it that time already? Off you go, boys, or Professor Dippet will have us all in detention.”

The surrounding group was quick to gather their things and file out the door. Tom rose from his seat with the same fluidity that Harry had long come to associate with him and glided over towards the desk which stood beside the far wall of Slughorn’s office. He examined the snake-adorned hourglass which stood atop it closely, watching the sand slip from one globe of glass down into the other for a while, before reaching out and lightly flicking it.

The sound rang like a bell through the large room, drawing the Potion’s Master’s attention back to him.

“Look sharp, Tom. Don’t want to be caught out of bed after hours,” he said, refilling his glass with what looked like whiskey. When the he didn’t move he asked “Something on your mind, Tom?”

“Yes, Sir.” He said, finally beginning to move again, though it was in the opposite direction of the door. “You see, I simply couldn’t think of anyone else to go to. The other Professors, well,” his face did not betray his intentions, remaining almost terrifyingly flat, but his voice took on that familiar silken purr “they’re not like you. They might…” Tom stilled, “misunderstand.”

“Go on.”

“You see, I was in the library the other night,” Tom resumed his pacing, “in the Restricted Section and I read something rather odd about this rare bit of magic. And I thought perhaps you could illuminate me. It’s called, as I understand it,” the memory blurred momentarily, the word which was almost certainly ‘Horcruxes’ coming out as garbled nonsense.

Slughorn’s expression shifted. “I beg your pardon?” at once, his hackles seemed to rise. His tone becoming defensive and annoyed. “I don’t know anything about such things, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you! Now, get out of here at once, and don’t let me _ever_ hear you mentioning it again!”

The memory came to an abrupt end and both of them were expelled from the Pensive. Nagini hissed from her perch on Tom’s shoulders, disturbed by the sudden movement.

“What…happened?”

“He _tampered_ with his own memories?”

“Can you blame him, Tom?” Dumbledore said examining them both closely. “He knew that the information he gave to Voldemort was most certainly not anything which could responsibly be provided to a student. Not only that, but in the wake of his actions to a point Horace blames himself. It isn’t merely that he wishes to keep the truth from me, he wants to keep it from himself as well. I need the two of you to approach him privately during the next meeting of the Slugclub and do your absolute best to convince him to give up the original and unaltered memory of the conversation which took place that night.” He told them. “Given the necessary nature of the information contained within the memory, you both have the leeway to do whatever you deem necessary within reason to get him from him.”

“We understand, Professor.” Tom said. “It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to accomplish that.”

“Your confidence is admirable, but you may find you’ve underestimated the will of one not to face their demons Tom.” The Headmaster replied. “All the same, I wish you luck and good night.”

“Good night, Professor Dumbledore.”

The door swung shut behind them and the two headed down the stairs.

“You have a plan then, Tom?” Harry asked him as they passed the stone gargoyle and stepped into the corridor.

“I do.” Tom told him with a smirk on his face. “A devilishly simple one: we’re going to, to the best of our ability, recreate that night and use the ensuing shock to our advantage. Of course, that means that you and I are going to need to put in over owl post an express order for a box of crystalized pineapple.”


	35. The Slug Club

“The party isn’t for another three hours, Ginny. Nothing is even going to be set up yet: Professor Slughorn probably isn’t even in the Dungeons right now.”

“That’s exactly why we need to get down there _now_ , Neville.” Ginny insisted as they started down the Dungeon stairs. “We can set this,” she held up the Boxing Telescope, “up in his office and potentially nail Riddle with it; he’ll be stuck with the black eye for at least a month without the cream to remove it and with how vain he is it’ll be sure to drive him mad!”

“But why are we putting it in the office and not setting it out where the party is actually going to be held?”

“Because we have a better chance of getting who we’re aiming for by putting it in Slughorn’s office rather than accidentally pegging some potentially innocent bystander; Luna overheard them talking about ‘getting him alone to question him during the party’ a few days ago and the most likely place they’ll chose to do that is there.” Ginny told him. “All I need you to do is play lookout here and warn me if anyone is coming. I’ll be as quick about setting it up as I can.”

Neville nodded at her, glancing nervously towards each end of the hallway. “Alright. I just hope that this won’t be a repeat of what happened last year.”

“This isn’t going to turn out anything like breaking into Umbridge’s office did. Just wait here.” Ginny ducked into the Dungeons and made her way quickly to the door of Slughorn’s office. After cautiously sticking her head in through the unlocked door and ensuring that the Potion’s Master was not in at the time, she slipped inside.

Where to put it?

Her eyes darted rapidly around the room. Roving over all of the odd items that the man had collected over the years-a snake-adorned hourglass, a collection of cauldrons and a set of hand-carved scales among them-before landing on a golden telescope set up on a delicate stand beside the window of the office.

 _Perfect_.

Aware that Neville was still stranded out in the hallway Ginny quickly exchanged the golden telescope for the silver one and, hoping the color discrepancy would go unnoticed, stowed the real telescope underneath the long tablecloth covering a nearby end table and quickly left the room.

“Alright, it’s in place.” She told him as they started back towards the stairs. “Now we just have to wait and see if this works.”

 

“The fact that we have to dress up like this is ridiculous.”

“Oh, hush love. You look nice.” Tom gently tugged on the lapels of Harry’s dress robes to straighten them before reaching up to secure the black bowtie properly around his neck. “Not to mention that your attire really could be worse. Have you ever seen a set of traditional dress robes?”

A smothering mass of lacy, frilly fabric dyed an awful faded shade of violet. Harry shuddered. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. Ron had to wear one to the Yule Ball in our fourth year.”

“It sounds to me as if your fourth was most eventful. Perhaps even the most eventful of all your years at Hogwarts so far?”

“Not quite,” Harry replied as Tom released his tie and stepped back. “I’d say that this year has actually been the most eventful for me thus far. What with my crossing timelines, saving a potential Dark Lord from making the biggest mistake of his life and subsequently falling in love with him.”

“I don’t know,” he said with a small smirk. “I don’t think that a mildly narcissistic idiot’s blind romantic fumbling at all compares to racing a Hungarian Horntail for a golden egg, swimming with Merpeople to rescue your best friend from a watery grave, beating a Sphinx in a game of riddles and besting the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort at only 14 years of age.”

Just as he had at the Halloween party Tom had elected to wear formal Muggle attire over dress robes. A collared white shirt clung to his lithe form beneath a deep crimson vest with golden buttons down the front and a short-cut black jacket held together at the bottom by a narrow golden chain. His long legs were clad in a pair of spotless black slacks and a pair of shinned loafers adorned his feet.

Harry couldn’t resist smirking at him. “Always so old fashioned, Tom.”

“I’m a relic from the ‘40s, love. What did you expect?” The golden band of the ring on his finger glittered in the dormitory’s low light as he ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. “Would you prefer that I change into a modern suit and tie? It would only take me a moment to transfigure what I’m wearing.”

“I didn’t say that I thought you looked bad. I rather like old fashioned, actually.”

“I am one of the few alive able to dress like 50 years ago and still look _fabulous_!” The sway of his hips as he crossed to his trunk was pointedly exaggerated. Harry smirked at him and laughed. “Are you not going to wear your locket?”

“I can’t wear my locket _and_ my tie, Tom. At least not without looking like I’m going through some sort of crisis.”

“I suppose that that’s true.” He reached into his trunk and pulled out the wand box he had hidden there, exchanging the Hornbeam backup for his original Yew wand. “Oh, it feels good to have this back. As easily personalized as Hornbeam is, it’s much more resistant to me than my Yew.”

“You’re bringing your real wand with you, Tom? Isn’t it too recognizable?”

“That’s rather much the point, Precious.” He replied, sliding the white wand into the inside pocket of his coat. “He can see through my glamor and still seems unable, for any number of reasons, to put the pieces together. So we’re going to clarify it for him as clearly as possible. The correct wand is a very necessary part of that.” Tom lifted Nagini onto his shoulders and then turned to him, closing the trunk as he did so with a casual twitch of the wrist. “Don’t worry, no one else is going to see it: I won’t be drawing my wand until we’re safely in the privacy of Slughorn’s office. And only if I have to. We’ll retrieve the memory and be back in Dumbledore’s office within,” he summoned a pocket watch and checked the time, “an hour. Shall we be going?”

“If you ask me, the sooner that we get this over with the better.” Harry said as the pair headed down the dormitory stairs. “You know that I hate these things, even though I’ve only ever been to one of them before now.”

“I know that you do, Precious. And, in all honesty, I do too: they’re little more than a poorly disguised farce to better his own position and ensure for himself certain amenities and creature comforts which he wouldn’t otherwise have access to.” He said. “But, who knows. Maybe our actions tonight will have the accompanying perk of getting the both of us permanently disinvited.”

“We can hope.”

It was after dinner on a Saturday night, so most of Gryffindor House was currently hold up in the common room and it seemed as if all eyes landed on them the instant that they left the last step.

Tom’s ring-adorned hand landed on his hip and pulled him possessively to his side as they left through the portrait hole. The fact that Tom would be with him, combined with the certainty that they wouldn’t be stuck there for very long made the night ahead of him just a little bit more endurable for Harry.

“You’re not going to make me dance again, are you?” he asked as they descended into the Dungeons alongside a few other couples, none of whom Harry could accurately identify by sight. Music filtered out to them from where the party was being held.

“No, Precious, I won’t force you to dance again. You have my word.” Tom promised him lightly as they turned the corner. “Not only is he not playing Swing-don’t think that I can’t dance to anything else, but it’s simply not as fun-but we aren’t coming to this party to revel. We’re coming to work. You have it?”

“In my pocket.”

“Perfect.” He pushed the door open to allow them inside. “We’ll bide our time for a while. Let him come to us. And when the opportunity presents itself we’ll make our move.”

Music filtered at low volume through the room from what Harry suspected to be the same gramophone that had been present during the Halloween party, though he couldn’t see far enough through the crush of people in robes and dresses concealing it from view to be sure. As seemed to be the Potion’s Master’s preferred style, the usually grey and rather dreary Dungeon was now lit with brilliant lanterns and spangled in velvet throws of rich colors. Waiters in stiff white shirts and black slacks orbited the room at regular intervals, bearing up round black trays full of appetizers and fluted glasses of pumpkin juice and sparkling wine.

“My, my, my,” Tom tsked, shaking his head. “Best dressed man in the room, me. With you a close second of course, Precious.”

Harry shook his head and grinned as they drew further into the room. From out of the corner of one eye he caught sight of Ginny, who was standing beside Neville and watching them with a gaze which was just a bit too calculating for his liking; grabbing Tom by the wrist, he quickly tugged him in the opposite direction.

Their path was cut off when a blur of clinking jewelry and glimmering multicolored shawls swooped down on them like a color-blind bat.

“P-Professor Trewlaney!” Harry stuttered in surprise as Tom jumped, his blue eyes widening and then narrowing just as quickly.

“Harry Potter,” she droned in her usual overly mystical voice, eyes magnified a millions times behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “I knew that I would find you here tonight, here with your partner. I have predicted-.”

“That’s nice Professor, but ** _I_** have predicted that Harry and I are desperately needed over there.” Before she could speak again, much to the raven’s relief, he hauled him off back into the crowd. “Seers,” he scoffed bitterly. “Bloody cons, the lot of them!”

“To be fair, Tom, she’s not _entirely_ a con.” He pointed out begrudgingly, moving to edge passed a small, stout bespectacled man to grab a bottle of Butter Beer from the drink table only to have Tom catch a painful grip on his upper arm and drag him back against his chest. Locking both arms protectively around him, he slid one hand into the pocket which held his wand. “Tom, what-?”

“After everything that you’ve gone through I’d have suspected that you’d be more aware of your surroundings Precious!” He hissed in his ear, glare fixated on the dark eyed hollow cheeked man who Harry hadn’t noticed and was much too interested in the curve if his neck to be normal.

Nagini hissed threateningly and left Tom’s shoulders, draping her coils around Harry’s neck instead as if in an effort to break his gaze.

“When in Merlin’s name did these parties become so bloody dangerous!” He retreated backwards slowly into the crowd, dragging Harry along with him. “Allowing a _Vampire_ to attend an event full of underage students! What is he thinking!”

Tom only released him once they’d put half the Dungeon worth of distance between them, and even then only did so reluctantly, eyes darting left and right as if expecting a werewolf to materialize out of the crowd at any moment.

What they got instead was the host of the party.

“Harry, my boy, there you are! And Mr.Gaunt, too! I’d begun to develop a concern that neither of you would come.” He chuckled. “I hope you’re both enjoying the festivities.”

Tom was glaring around at the surrounding crowd as if challenging them to make an effort to attack and Nagini was still furiously hissing so it was left to Harry to answer “well, it’s certainly keeping us on our toes Sir.”

The Potion’s Master laughed heartily at that. “Oh, your sense of humor is delightfully. Rather pointed. Very cheeky. Just like your mother’s, you know.” He said. “Why, I’m absolutely certain that your mother would be more than proud-.”

“ _Let me go, you filthy Squib!”_

The crowd parted and those nearby turned in surprise to look as Filch, with Ms.Norris trotting at his heels, dragged a struggling Draco Malfoy across the room towards them. He jerked away the instant that they came to a stop, glaring at the caretaker like he wished he would combust.

“I found this one,” Filch gleefully jabbed a boney finger at Draco, “sneaking around outside. Said he was invited to the party.”

“Alright, fine! I was gate crashing! Happy?”

Filch ignored him. “What would you like to do with him, Professor?”

“Oh, Argus, I-.”

At that precise moment, as if the night wasn’t already bad enough, Snape appeared from thin air beside them. “There’s no need to bother with him, Horace. I, as the current Head of Slytherin House, will deal with him accordingly.”

“Oh, come now Severus. There’s no need to punish the boy. It’s only natural that someone would want to attend a party.”

“I disagree about the need to punish him.” Draco, strangely enough, seemed anything but relieved by the sudden appearance of what was once his favorite Professor. Snape sneered at him. “Draco, come along.”

They disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Harry and Tom to exchange a quick suspicious glance.

“ _Nagini_ ,” Tom hissed to his familiar who still sat perched on Harry’s shoulders, “ _follow him. And find out what those two are **really** up to.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

Harry couldn’t fully suppress the shudder that ran through him at the unfamiliar sensation of the massive serpent crawling down his back and onto the floor. Moments later, she’d slithered out of sight.

“Professor,” Slughorn seemed to snap out of a daze and turned to look at him. “Tom and I aren’t able to stay for long, unfortunately, but there’s something very important that we need to speak with you about. If we could request a few moments of your time? Maybe in your office?”

“O-oh, of course. Right this way.” He led them back through the party and through a door into his office. Tom’s eyes immediately landed on the hour glass and he nudged Harry into action, indicating it with a tilt of his chin.

“We thought that we should bring you a little something, as an apology of sorts for not being able to stay for the whole party.” He set the box down on the desk top and returned it to its proper size with a flick of his wand. “Your favorite, Sir.”

“Crystalized pineapple!” Slughorn said, pleasantly surprised. “But how did you know?”

Tom smirked from the position he’d maintained by the door as Harry gave a small shrug, stepping up to the hourglass. “Intuition.” The same clear bell-tone that they’d heard in the memory rang through the room the moment that his nail made contact with the glass.

Slughorn looked resoundingly uncomfortable. “You said that there was something on your mind, Harry?”

“Oh, yes.” He replied calmly, turning to face him again. “As I’m sure you know, what with the Daily Prophet having harped on it all summer and what not, I am the Chosen One. Destined to be the fall of Voldemort.” Slughorn’s flinch and stricken look at the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name were both ignored. “So I’ve been studying the Dark Arts. To learn what I might potentially come up against in the near future. I was doing a bit of reading the other night, in the Restricted Section, and I came across a word I…didn’t understand. It’s was unfamiliar to me, I’ve never heard of such a thing before, and I couldn’t find any further mention of it in any of the other of the other books so I was wondering if…maybe you could tell me more?”

“Dark Arts?” he repeated, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to throw them both physically from his office. “I really think that you would do better asking Professor Snape about that sort of thing, Harry. He _is_ the acting Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, after all.”

“That’s true, but Professor Snape…well, he isn’t like you Sir. You see, he doesn’t like me very much and he just might,” Harry paused for a moment, “misunderstand.”

“What is there to misunderstand? You are, as you said, studying the potential tactics of Y-Y…your enemy.” He said. “It’s really a quite intelligent position to be taking.”

“I’m glad to know that you think so, Sir.” He said. “You won’t mind informing me about what a Horcrux is, then?”

Harry had never seen anyone turn that white in his life. “I…what…I thought that Albus got rid of that book…!” His eyes narrowed. “ _Dumbledore_ put you up to this, didn’t he!”

“Professor-.”

“Didn’t he!”

“Yes, Sir, he did. He showed us the memory that you gave to him and-.”

_“Then you know that I’ve already told him everything that I know about the matter!”_

“No.” Tom spoke calmly, but it was clear from his face that he’d begun to become annoyed. Giving his side of the plan up for lost Harry turned his attention to the array of glittering objects which filled the Potion’s Master’s office and allowed his partner to take charge of the matter. “We know, Professor, that Voldemort,” his reaction to the name was, again, ignored, “asked you about Horcruxes, we know that he asked you how to make them, we know that he asked you about the potential consequences of making more than one-we have reason to suspect the exact number he asked about was seven-and we know that, for various reasons, the memory you gave to the Headmaster was fake. Altered. We’re here for the real memory, if you’d be so kind.”

“How dare you attempt to suggest-.”

Tom drew his wand with a harsh flourish and watched the older man’s eyes turn as wide as saucers. “Lord Voldemort does not _merely_ suggest. Nor does Tom Riddle.”

“T-Tom, I…how?”

“Alternate Temporal Thread Theory.” He answered, rolling his wand between his hands. “Oh, yes Professor. I stand before you as living proof that multiple alternate timelines from this one do in fact exist. I am not the Tom Riddle that you’re familiar with. I am not the Tom Riddle who made even a single Horcrux, nor am I the Tom Riddle who asked you about how to. But make no mistake, Sir, I am still very. Much. Dangerous. Harry, however, would prefer that I behave myself. Keeps reminding me of stupid things like ‘torturing people, Tom, is frowned upon in polite society’ and all that sort of bullocks. Now, I will make my request once more, just so that we’re clear, turn over-.”

A loud metallic pop, the crack of glass and yelp of pain made them both whirl around. Harry, clutching at his face, stumbled back from the silver telescope which now had a small fist protruding from the tapered end. His broken glasses clattering to the floor.

“ _Harry!”_ Tom caught him before he could stumble blindly into anything else. “What happened?”

“It’s one of Fred and George’s punching telescopes! I should have recognized the damned thing; I tried to look through it and must have gripped it too hard!” He grunted, covering his wounded eye and squinting through the other in a combination of pain and poor vision. “Someone must have snuck it in here as a joke.”

Or set it up hoping to get Tom; given the incident with the Aviatomobile earlier in the week that scenario seemed much more likely.

“Let me see.”

“It’s only a black eye-.”

“Your glasses broke; you could be cut. Let me see!” Tom’s voice was stern but his grip on his chin and wrist were gentle. Reluctantly, Harry allowed him to pull his hand away. “There’s a mild cut under your eye and a little bit of blood, not to mention quite the shiner.” Retrieving his glasses from the floor he tapped them smartly with his wand, repairing the broken glass. “Merlin, this has gotten out of hand! I’ll have to have a friendly talk with Ron’s sister about what’s been going on, but for the time being you and I will be going to the Hospital Wing.”

“There’s no point. The only way to remove a black eye caused by one of those things is-.”

“The cream that goes with the telescope, I’m aware. I’ve heard Hermoine’s story about her experience with one of those blasted things. I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing because for all I know I could have missed something in my cursory evaluation that will worsen your already atrocious vision.” He handed them over, allowing Harry to gingerly slip his glasses back onto his face. “Have a good night, Professor Slughorn. We respectfully ask that you…consider our request in the coming days. Harry and I will be awaiting your response.”

With the raven clinging to him, vision swimming and pain lancing through his head, Tom pushed the office door open and led the way back out into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That party was like one of those traumatizing haunted houses where all of the props pop out at you and chase you around. It's happened; Harry's gotten crossfire in Ginny's war and Tom is ready to at least make an effort at putting his foot down.  
> The amount of support that this story is receiving is insane. Honestly. I don't know if it's the fandom that I was writing in before or what but I've never had anywhere near as many views before, let alone the degree of bookmarks comments and kudos that PA is getting. Much love to all my readers as it makes my day to find comments in my inbox. I suppose that's really what motivates me the do my best to be able to post everyday if I'm really to be honest.


	36. The Unbreakable Vow

Given the fact that one could make a fairly solid argument for the opinion that he actually lived in the Hospital Wing rather than in Gryffindor Tower with the rest of his House Harry knew to expect that Madam Pomfrey would have at least some small comment to make in regards to his inevitable return and the Mediwitch did not disappoint.

She looked up when the doors squeaked open and huffed softly at the sight of him, straightening her blindingly white apron. “Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said rather tartly, “I’d begun to wonder when I’d see you again. It’s been almost an entire year spent without a visit to me, which must be some sort of record, though I’m sure that a great deal of credit for that is owed to the fact that you’ve spent much of that year half a continent away.”

“Good evening, Madam Pomfrey.” He said, leaning into Tom for comfort. The dark brunet said nothing but squeezed his shoulders comfortingly.

“Well,” she said, turning her gaze to Tom, “what happened to him this time? It’s a bit late at night for any Quidditch related injuries to be occurring.”

“He ran afoul of a bit of joke supplies from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes which I have reason to suspect was set out by a disgruntled admirer of his and aimed at me.” Tom said as he followed him over to the nearest unoccupied cot. “I really do apologize for disturbing you, Ma’am, as from what I can see the cuts are minor and something that I could have easily taken care of myself and, as far as I understand it, the black eye can’t be removed without a specific cream. But the reason that I felt the need to take him up here anyway is because I’ve a minor concern that I possibly could have missed a less obvious injury which could potentially result in his vision worsening.”

“I’ll have a look, then.” The Medi-witch said, stepping up to him. “Glasses off, please.”

Harry pulled his glasses from his face and set them on the thin cot beside him. Madam Pomfrey examined his face critically, taking in the blue-black bruise which ringed his eye and the thin cut which had dribbled blood down over the curve of his cheek.

“How’s your vision, Mr. Potter?”

“As terrible as always, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Very well, you seem to be fine. If you noticed that anything has changed in the near future you both know where to find me.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

A swift flourish of her wand sealed the small cut under his eye, vanished the blood which had dried onto his skin and reduced a bit of the swelling but the livid bruise remained stubbornly in place.

“That seems to be the best that I can do for you. I certainly hope that one of you, or at the very least someone that one of you knows, is able to provide you with that cream you made mention of earlier. Because, otherwise, you’ll have that for a while.”

“We do.”

“I certainly hope that she has some left.” Tom ran a nervous hand through his dark hair, leaving the formerly neat strands sticking up in all directions. “If she ran out and you do wind up stuck with that until we can get the twins to send us more it’s certainly not going to help dispel the rumor that I’ve been beating you.”

“I’m sure that she does, Tom.” Harry put his glasses back on and stood up. “Fred and George gave her a big tin of it and she can’t possibly have used it all; they said it would get rid of the bruise within an hour.” He turned his head to address the Mediwitch again. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Come on, Precious,” Tom offered him his hand, “it’s getting close to curfew. We should be heading back to the common room so that Filch won’t go after us like he did Draco.”

They left the Hospital Wing behind and made their way back towards the common room. Halfway there they ran into Neville who looked shocked and slightly guilty at the sight of the black eye the raven sported.

“Harry, w-what happened to your face?” He wasn’t able to look either of them in the eye.

“It’s just a bruise, Neville. It doesn’t even really hurt that much anymore.” Harry assured him. “It looks a lot worse than it actually is.”

“He was on the receiving end of a punching telescope which, through some mysterious means, managed to find its way into Professor Slughorn’s office. Interrupted a rather important matter of discussion s well; the evil thing had the worst timing possible.” Tom barked the password at the Fat Lady; portrait hole after him. “I have a suspect in mind, and though I’ve no proof and can do little more than talk to them it is my full intention to do so. A warning may just sort them out before things wind up getting…messy.”

“Contain yourself, Tom.”

“Don’t fret, Precious. I know that we’re in public. I’ll be cordial. Polite. Firm.” He promised. “There’s Hermoine. Let’s focus on getting rid of that nasty bruise on your face.”

Leaving Neville to do with himself as he pleased without a second thought spared to him Tom led Harry over to where Ron and Hermoine were sitting.

“Bloody hell, Harry!”

“What happened to you!”

“The telescope punched him, not me.” The dark brunet informed them both dryly. “Would you happen to still have any of that bruise removing cream left? I already took him to Madam Pomfrey and, well…”

“Yes, I have a great deal of it left: the bruise from the demented telescope disappeared within an hour after only one application. It’s in my trunk, I’ll go and get it right away.” Hermoine immediately dropped what she was doing and got up from where she was sitting, but before she could head for the dormitory stairs Tom called her back.

“Ms. Granger,” he said softly, “if Ginerva is up in her dorm, could you…kindly request that she come down here so that she and I can have…a word?”

“I’ll be back down as soon as I can.”

“You two really think that Ginny is behind this?” Ron asked them as Hermoine hurried away. “I mean, a lot of people who go to Hogwarts have bought stuff from Fred and George: Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is more popular than Zonko’s!”

“A lot of people who go to Hogwarts and patronize the twins’ joke store have a problem with Tom and I being in a relationship, do they?”

“Well…no, I suppose not.” He conceded, then brightened quickly. “Maybe it was Malfoy.”

“You really think Fred and George would even allow the likes of Draco Malfoy into their store?”

“I doubt that Ginny would target you though, mate.”

“She wasn’t. That telescope was meant for me: I’ve complete confidence of that much.” Tom said dryly as Hermoine returned, a metal tin clutched in one hand and a rather displeased looking Ginny following behind.

“Here, just a few dabs of this and that bruise will be gone by the time you head to bed.”

“Thank you, Hermoine.” Harry said gratefully, reaching for the tin, but before he could reach it Tom had taken it from her hand. “Tom-!”

“Hush, Precious. I’ll do it.”

“He’s not a child and doesn’t need anyone, especially _you_ , to take care of him!”

The metal creaked softly under the force of his suddenly white-knuckled grip. Ron moved as if to get up and put himself between them and Harry grabbed Tom’s wrist to prevent him from pulling his wand. Ginny stared the dark brunet down as he bared his teeth at her.

“Naughty children,” he hissed mutinously, “will sit quietly until they are addressed by their better elders! You will sit and you will wait until I am ready to deal with you!”

Without bothering to insure that she did as she was told he dropped to his knees in front of Harry and unscrewed the lid of the tin. “Glasses.”

“Tom, really, I can do it.”

“I know you can. Unlike you, love, I have no sight problems and can clearly see that you’re still possessed of both your hands.” Though his voice had warmed over, the sharp edge was still plainly there. “Having said that, we’ve been over this. In sickness and in health.”

“I’m hurt not sick, Tom.”

“Same difference, pet.” He swiped two fingers through the thick yellow paste inside of the tin. “Now, please take off your glasses and close your eyes.”

Giving up arguing with the taller male for lost, Harry removed his glasses with a sigh and did as he was told. After warming the ointment between his hands, Tom applied it to his face with a gentle touch.

“There, Precious,” he got back to his feet and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead before straightening up. “Now, to deal with…other much less pleasant things.” His eyes fell on Ginny in a cutting gaze; she glowered up at him from the armchair that she’d seated herself in. “Up. You will stand when I address you.”

“You can address me just fine like this, ‘Gaunt’.” Tom’s eyes narrowed to slits and Ginny jumped up with a yelp. “You bloody bastard!”

“I can and will do much worse than a mild Stinging Hex if you continue this. I am not a man to be prodded and I am not in the mood for the games of petty children.” He warned her in an icy voice. “Harry and I have only good reason to suspect you and no proof to make it clear that you are, in fact, responsible for what’s happening but allow me to be thorough and provide you with a warning in the perhaps futile hope that you will get this through your head before I’m forced to _hurt you_! Spread rumors all you bloody want. Throw everything on the shelves of your brother’s Joke Store at me. Slander me. Stalk me. Do whatever the bloody hell you want to me because I can take it! I don’t care! But let me make one thing pointedly, candidly and stringently clear to you. The next time that Harry is the one who winds up suffering because of it you and I, Ginerva, will have a real problem. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“I’m glad that we understand each other.” He stepped back from her just as Nagini slithered back into the common room. “I’m done with you.”

“You think that you can just dismiss me? You’re not a teacher or a Prefect and even if you were you woouldn’t have the power to dismiss me from the common room of my own House!”

“Ginny!” Both looked over at Harry as Nagini crawled up his leg and onto the couch, the bruise on his face already beginning to fade. “Go. You’ve done enough.”

She stared at him, looking incredibly betrayed, then rounded on her heel and fled up the stairs.

“Tom.” When the dark brunet didn’t immediately react he tried again. “Tom!” Assured that he finally had the other’s attention Harry tugged him over towards the couch. “Come and sit down before you completely lose your temper. Besides, Nagini is back.”

“You’re right, Precious. I’ve slipped enough as it is, I suppose.” Somewhat reluctantly he allowed himself to be pulled down onto the couch beside him. “Had the venue been any less public…”

 _“I am gone for less than an hour_ ,” Nagini hissed, coiling herself across their laps, “ _and I come back to find your face swelling up and Master getting ready to fight to the death to defend his position as your rightful mate. What happened?”_

“ _A misaimed bit of joke supplies. We can hope that my warning will at least frighten her off for a while.”_ Tom told her, loosening his collar. _“What have you found, Nagini?”_

 _“The Little Dragon and the Dungeon Bat are plotting something. Or, at least, are on the same side.”_ She said. “ _He dragged him out into the hallway and forced him into a conversation that the Little Dragon clearly didn’t want to have any part of. They spoke of things which were incriminating but disjointed and confusing.”_

 _“Like what?”_ Harry asked, well aware of the weight of both Ron and Hermoine’s eyes resting on him. Nagini stared at him for a brief moment before answering, the firelight flickering in her amber gaze. “ _The Dungeon Bat said that he had sworn to protect him. That he had made the Unbreakable Vow. But the Little Dragon refused. Said he didn’t need his help. Didn’t need his protection. That he’d been…chosen_.”

“ _Chosen?”_ Tom repeated.

“ _Nagini, what exactly did Draco say?”_

 _“’I don’t need your protection! I was chosen for this: out of all others, me! And I won’t fail him.”_ Her tongue flicker out to briefly taste the air. “ _The Dungeon Bat taunted him, said that he was afraid-he was, I could taste it even from where I was hiding-and insisted that he be allowed to assist him. But the Little Dragon is insistent that he will have his moment.”_

“Well,” Tom switched back to English for the benefit of their two companions, “if that doesn’t sound bloody suspicious, then I don’t know what would.”

“What did she say?”

“Yeah, Harry, what did she say? The two of you can’t just suddenly switch to Parseltongue then say something like that and _not_ tell us, mate!”

“I don’t know if you were there at the time or if you saw it, Hermoine, but Filch hauled Draco into the Dungeons in the middle of the party only for Snape to appear and drag him right back out again.” Harry said. “They were acting suspicious at the time, so Tom sent Nagini to follow them and listen in on whatever conversation that they were having.”

“And what did she find out?”

“Snape swore to protect Malfoy.” He told them. “He made something called an ‘Unbreakable Vow’.”

“An Unbreakable Vow?” Ron repeated, wide eyed. “Bloody hell!”

“Why?” Harry asked, gaze instantly focusing in on his friend. “What does that mean? Is it bad?”

“Not necessarily, it’s just…” the red head shrugged. “It’s a really serious thing to do. You can’t break an Unbreakable Vow.”

“…” Tom dissolved into a fit of reluctant sniggering as the raven stared at his friend, utterly in sensed. “Thanks, Ron, but I managed to figure out that much on my own. Surprisingly enough.”

“Syntax,” the dark brunet snorted, “brilliant!”

“I don’t see how it’s so suspicious that Professor Snape would make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco.” Hermoine said, steering the conversation back on track before it could get too far off the rails. “After all, the world seems to become more and more dangerous with every passing moment. And he is his Godfather.”

“That wasn’t the part that made it suspicious, Ms. Granger.” Tom told her. “He made a reference to being ‘chosen’ for some sort of task ‘out of all others’ and stated that ‘he trusts me’.” His chuckle was now much darker than before. “Voldemort doesn’t trust anyone but himself.”

“We have no way of knowing that it’s Voldemort that assigned him the task. Whatever it is.” But there was no conviction in her voice.

“Hope for the best but assume the worst: the wisest course of action in times like these.” Tom said, getting back to his feet and stretching his back. “I’m going to go change out of these gaudy clothes and run an errand. Mind if I borrow your cloak, Precious?”

“Just make sure to put it back, Tom.”

“Always.” He promised, turning to head for the stairs, “I suppose I’ll see the three of you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The fifth stair creaked loudly under his foot as he scaled the staircase and he made a mental note to avoid it on his way back down. Reaching the proper dorm he quickly crossed to his bed and, after once more exchanging wands, opened Harry’s trunk and located the invisibility cloak.

It had taken longer than he’d hoped it would to accumulate a month’s worth of time-as certain priority things weren’t as possible as he’d have liked them to be when one had a Mandrake Leaf folded up under their tongue and he had an admitted control problem around Harry-but as of that night he’d finally managed to reach the stated quota of both the herbal burden and the needed meditation and wasn’t about to allow himself to deal with the accursed thing for a single moment more.

With the list of ingredients necessary for the potion which marked the final step of the process in mind, Tom threw the cloak over his shoulders and disappeared from sight.


	37. Up To Trouble

 

After successfully managing to bypass both Peeves and the Caretaker’s blasted cat despite not having the Marauder’s Map on him at the time, Tom was relieved to finally have made it down into the Dungeons of the school. He found his way through the darkness, passed the cavernous now empty room where the party had been held and down another set of stairs before finally arriving outside the thick wooden door of the office of Severus Snape.

Here he paused and carefully pressed his ear to the door. Straining his hearing to the best of his abilities through the thick wood, he listened for even the faintest of sounds. The twitch of black robes. The scratch of a quill. The sound of footsteps against the stone floor.

But no sound came.

Steeling himself with a deep breath of cold, dank air Tom reached out and turned the tarnished knob. Pushing the heavy door open as slowly as he could. Inching it outwards. Slowly. Slowly. Mindful to do everything he could to prevent the thing from squeaking and disturbing the occupant of the adjoining bedroom.

He could not afford for the former Potion’s Master to catch him.

Once the door was open wide enough to fit him through, Tom slipped inside and repeated the arduous process of closing it without a sound. That done with and now submerged in silence and darkness he closed his eyes and focused, using his memory of the layout of the space to find his way through it in total darkness while a small part of him hoped and prayed that nothing had been moved since the last time that he’d been there.

Tom let out a soft sigh of relief when his fingertips made contact with the coarse surface of the Potion Cabinet’s wooden door. After briefly checking for any alarms of protective spells, he unlocked the door and stepped up into the enlarged space beyond. Closing it behind himself with a quiet click, he pulled off the cloak and stowed it away.

“Lumos.” White light flooded the narrow space, reflecting off of the countless jars and vials of ingredients.

He knew that he didn’t have much time to spare. The longer that he was there the greater the chance became that he would be caught. Tom’s gaze scanned the shelves at rapid speed. Examining labels. Tilting vials. Shifting bottles.

Over the soft clatter of glass as he sifted through the supplies and shoved what he needed into the pockets of his robes Tom caught the sound of footsteps heading towards the cabinet.

 _Shit!_ Grabbing the last of what he needed and shoving it all hastily away he hissed “Nox!” to extinguish the point of his wand and threw the cloak back over himself, knocking over a few vials and containers in the process, just as Snape wrenched open the door with his own wand held high.

His glittering black eyes fell on the mess of ingredients now scattered across the floor and he stepped up into the cabinet, stalking forwards and forcing Tom to press himself against the shelf beside him in order to avoid being bumped into. He didn’t wait for the other man to process what must have happened and leapt from the cabinet, landing on the floor with a clatter of jostled glass vials and tearing out the door. Throwing it wide with a grating shriek that echoed through the surrounding darkness.

“ _Potter!”_ He heard snarled from behind him, but Tom didn’t stop. He darted up the stairs and through the Dungeons, well aware that his feet were visible and that the sounds of his running footsteps were a dead giveaway of his position but he hoped that the shadowy corridors would be enough for him to get away.

Tom was no an athlete by any means but the laborious responsibilities heaped upon the older wards of Wool’s had left him in considerably better shape than most wizards, so he was able to take yet another set of stairs at a full sprint without even slowing down. Unfortunately for him this didn’t prove to be the advantage that he’d hoped it would.

The former Potion’s Master was fast and in a great deal better shape than his appearance would suggest. He caught the hem of the invisibility cloak just as Tom crested the stairs, causing him to catch his foot on the stone and go down hard. The breath left him in a painful whoosh as his chest met with unyielding floor. Ribs creaking ominously and vision exploding with little balls of colored light as the contents of his pockets, including his wand, went flying.

 _Thank Circe that glass is spelled to be unbreakable._ Managing to rip the cloak free of the grip of his pursuer and grab his wand he summoned the stolen ingredients and bolted again.

“ ** _Get back here, Riddle!”_**

 _Fat bloody chance!_ He snorted, stuffing the pilfered goods back into his pockets as he rounded another corner only to be forced to skid to a stop almost immediately. “Miner-I mean-Professor McGonagall.”

Blast it all.

“Out wandering the corridors after hours, Thomas?” her voice was sharp and her gaze suspicious. “You are not a Prefect anymore, a fact of which I shouldn’t have to remind you, and unlike Horace Slughorn I do not allow the students of my House to freely haunt the school at night as if they were just another of Hogwarts’ ghosts. Mr. Potter’s habits are rubbing off on you.”

“Hard for them not to, with how close we are.” Tom did his best to smile despite still gasping for air from his fall. “I apologize, but I couldn’t sleep and thought a nice stroll might do me some good. I understand if you must take points, but please do so quickly; I’m feeling very tired now.”

“Stealing from my personal stores deserves a far greater punishment than the mere docking of points!” Snape snarled as he rounded the corner behind him. “I did not have the time to examine the shelves for exactly what he took, but judging by the amount of vials that came out of his pockets when he fell it was a good deal. I would suggest-.”

“Thomas may have been a Slytherin once, but he is a Gryffindor now and as a member of _my_ House, Severus, the responsibility of punishing him falls to me. Not you.” Tom was delighted to hear the same snap aimed at Snape as had been at him and smirked. “However, given his history and who he is I think this matter goes beyond the both of us. I’ll be taking him to see the Headmaster.”

The smirk slid right off his face. Taking him to Dumbledore, was she?

_Stealing isn’t tolerated at Hogwarts, Tom._

So much for becoming an Animagus.

“I will…accompany you.” The former Potion’s Master drawled with a sneer. “Given who he is, you may find yourself in need of…assistance if he tries to resist.”

Well aware that he had absolutely no say in matters and no hope of using words to skew things to his benefit enough to get away, Tom allowed himself to be swept along to the Headmaster’s office. Given that it wasn’t all that long after the fall of curfew he wasn’t surprised to find Dumbledore wide awake and sitting behind his desk when they walked in.

“Good evening, Tom. Minerva. Severus. What brings the three of you into my office at this hour?”

“I encountered Thomas while he was out wandering the corridors not far from the stairs down into the Dungeons.” Professor McGonagall told him. “He was fleeing pursuit by Severus who claims that he caught him stealing from his Potion Cabinet.”

“My ‘claim’ can be fully substantiated by the simple act of checking his pockets!” Snape spat.

“Tom.” The Headmaster said, motioning to his desk. “If you would please empty your pockets for me?”

“…” Tom stepped forwards reluctantly and reached into the pockets of his robes. “Yes,Professor.”

He pulled the vials of ingredients free and set them, one by one, atop the desk in a neat row.

“Adder’s Fork, Bat’s Blood, Powdered Dragon Horn, Fireseed and Nightshade.” The aged wizard said, looking over the items. “This is all?”

“It’s everything that I took from the Potion Cabinet, Sir.”

“But it isn’t everything that you’ve taken, is it?” Tom didn’t answer. “I recall Professor Sprout mentioning an attack on her Mandrakes a while back, though only the leaves were damaged. In your haste to leave Greenhouse Three without being seen, you neglected to be gentle when you picked them.” He lowered his eyes. “You’ve been pursuing the ability of an Animagus, Tom?”

“…Yes, Professor.”

“You are aware that doing so without alerting the Ministry of Magic is illegal?”

“My mere presence in this timeline is illegal, so even if I wanted to pursue the skill through legal avenues I couldn’t. As you well know, seeing as you’re the one who orchestrated Harry’s foray into my time in the first place. Professor.”

A small smile found its way onto Dumbledore’s face. “A fair point.” He allowed. “You came to have interest in becoming an Animagus only recently?”

“I did.”

“Might I ask how?”

“Between a certain story regarding his father Harry told me, and the revelation that we might end up facing off with werewolves I figured it might be useful.”

“So you plan to use it in the war?”

Tom nodded. “I do, Sir.”

“Very well, Tom. Given that you’ve all but completed the process already I will allow you to take the final step in becoming an Animagus. On the condition that I, and through me the Order of the Phoenix, is made aware of your other form.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“And should you find yourself in need of something in the future, I must request you ask for it rather than resorting to stealing it when you think someone isn’t looking.”

“I’ll do my best, Sir.”

“I’ll let you go, then, as that Potion is known to take a while.” Dumbledore said, nodding to him. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Sir. Goodnight.”

Gathering the ingredients together and once more returning them to his pockets Tom left the office and threw the cloak over himself again.

Moaning Myrtle was nowhere in sight when he arrived in the out of order bathroom and opened the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Sliding down the shoot and cleaning himself off again at the bottom, Tom quickly made his way into the antechamber before summoning a cauldron and filling it with water.

Given the flooding which had taken place in the Chamber, he had to set the cauldron on the lip of the Portcullis in order to light a fire underneath it. He sat there beside the cauldron for almost three hours, adjusting the heat of the flames from time to time, adding ingredient when called for and stirring the mixture whenever necessary. The ultimate product was a wholly unappetizing brackish brown color and smelled of a mixture of rubber and burned hair. Tom could only assume that the hot contents of the beaker in his hand would taste like liquefied nightmares.

Still not the worst thing he’d ever done in the pursuit of power.

 _I really hope I don’t end up regretting this. It wouldn’t do well for me to wind up stuck halfway between man and whatever my other form will turn out to be._ He had to push the image of his counterpart’s serpentine face from his mind before reciting the necessary incantation. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

Before he could think better of what he was about to do Tom threw the potion back and swallowed. The scalding liquid tasted even worse than it had looked and smelled and burned his throat as it went down. The burning sensation quickly spread through his entire being. Over his skin, through his blood and into his bones.

Tom gasped at the sudden sharp pain and doubled over on himself, every fiber of his human form screaming to resist whatever change was being forced on it. It took every ounce of his will to prevent his own resistance, latching onto the source of the pain instead of reeling away from it like his instincts demanded.

His skeletal structure was the first thing to begin to change. Bones and joints cracking and popping loudly as they resized and realigned themselves. His chest rounded outwards. His hips and shoulders shrunk and angled slightly inwards. His fingers shortened and his feet lengthened, nails curving into claws as his legs contorted and forced him down onto all fours. His face pushed itself outwards, handsome features transforming into large eyes and a narrow muzzle filled with sharp teeth. His ears migrated to perch atop his skull and a long tail sprouted from the base of his spine. His skin tightened over morphing muscles, stinging as if pricked by thousands of needles as his clothing was replaced by thick fur.

With the surprisingly painful first transformation over with at last, Tom slunk out from under the pile of robes which had caved in around his now much smaller body and shook himself out before looking down at his reflection in the water which covered the floor.

 _I’m,_ familiar dark blue eyes blinked back at him from a canine face covered in black fur, _a fox._

It wasn’t what he’d expected. At all. But judging from how badly it had hurt to merely have his limbs shrink and reshape he supposed he should be glad that he hadn’t had to lose them entirely.

Not to mention that a serpent was a rather inconvenient other form to have when your enemy was a Parselmouth.

 _Human to animal transformation done with. Now, let’s make an attempt at the reverse._ It was a bit more difficult to reverse the transformation without the Potion leading the way for him, but after a few minutes of trying he managed to shift back.

Already the change was beginning to become less painful.

 _So it is true what they say about the clothing of an Animagus,_ he thought as he straightened up. _They fall off when they shift and reappear when they turn back._

“Tempus!” Opening the summoned watch to check the time, he grinned. “Just past midnight: still plenty of time for a little bit of fun to see just what my new form can do.”

He was admittedly pushing his luck by doing it but the front doors of the Castle were only a few corridors away from the door of the out of order bathroom and so Tom left the invisibility cloak tucked safely in his pocket and simply made a break for it.

The snow from the previous snowfall had mostly subsided from the grass by then but the night air was still bitterly cold. Tom dropped off the side of the stone stairs of the Castle and into the deep shadow below. Locating the mechanism of the shift with relative ease this time, he dropped to his paws and dislodged the red and gold tie which had attempted to wrap around his back paw with a quick shake of his hind leg. The slope of the large hill seemed much steeper from his new perspective and the distance between him and the edge of the Forbidden Forest’s dark trees seemed almost as if it were miles away.

He revealed sharp fangs set deep into black gums in the closest approximation of a smile that a fox could manage. _Let’s see how fast I am in this form. Just how long it takes for me to reach those trees._

Tom coiled down and bolted from the shadows where he’d left his clothes, racing down the side of the hill. The cold night air rushed through his dark fur. The grass and snow gave beneath his paws. He yipped excitedly and leapt as high as he could, lost his footing on the landing and went rolling down the remainder of the slope. Righting himself quickly and dislodging white flakes from his coat, Tom glanced around to assure himself that nothing had seen the rather embarrassing tumble and then proceeded the rest of the way to the forest’s edge.

In his human form, the Forbidden Forest would have seemed to be nothing more than a monolith of darkness and silence but now with the senses of an animal he could see and hear everything around him so much more clearly. The blackness of night was, in fact, made up on millions of different shades of violet and blue all mixing together to form a tapestry of shadows. The colors of the trees and undergrowth surrounding him were muted and seen through filters in cold hues but were still very much detectable as there.

And silent was now the last word that the trees rising up before him brought to mind.

The leaves whispered to the wintery wind and the trunks moaned the story of countless years in a language long since lost to understanding. Insects scratched from behind bark and amongst gnarled roots and beneath rocks. Bats and owls and other nocturnal animals hooted and chittered as they fluttered through the air. Something unseen but, judging by its footfalls and breathing, considerably larger than he was moved in the undergrowth nearby.

Not a werewolf, the moon wasn’t full, though exactly what if could have been he had no idea. And it was that fact more than anything that gave him pause on the forest’s edge. His ears swiveled and his nose twitched, sifting through the smells of ice decaying plant matter and the hidden treasure troves of squirrels, in an effort to discern its identity but all for nothing.

Only when almost certain that the mystery creature had moved on did Tom trot cautiously forwards into the trees. Stopping every few moments to check his surroundings again before proceeding further. Picking up more and more speed until he was running again. Leaping from thick snarls of gnarled knotted roots. Weaving around large moss-covered boulders. Sliding through the narrow spaces beneath the lichen-riddled corpses of fallen trees. Steering well clear of the entrance to a hollow lined with webs and passing cautiously through a clearing full of Centaur before finally coming to a shallow pond.

Picking his way across the gravel scattered bank Tom approached the water’s edge and found the pond to be clear and blackened by surrounding night. With only the thought of his thirst in mind, he bent his head to drink.

Lapping up water was a great deal harder than your standard house pet made it seem.

 _Merlin_ , he thought, narrowing his eyes at his reflection in the water. _I’m going to have to work on this if I ever want to make any use of this form, at least as far as spying would go. I fox terribly!_

But he couldn’t exactly sit by and allow an oversized puddle to get the better of him.

 _It can’t possibly be that difficult! I just need to…_ he dropped further down onto his forelegs, _get the right angle or something. That’s all. Not difficult. All I’m doing is sticking my tongue into the water for God’s sake!...And somehow use it like a spoon. **Why did I have to wind up with the world’s most embarrassing drinking problem?**_

Something moved in the corner of his vision and he looked over. A number of small, darkly colored shapes were moving slowly through the cold water only about half a foot away from where he stood attempting to master what should, in all honesty, have been a very basic skill.

Fish.

It would have been a mundane and entirely uninteresting observation under normal circumstances, but some predatory part of his brain which wasn’t quite so easily agitated in his normal form lit up bright red at the sight of the small creatures and before his rational mind could catch up to his instincts he’d pounced. The fish scattered in all directions and he chased wildly after them through the shallow water, snapping his jaws in an unsuccessful attempt at catching them, soaking his coat and sending water flying in all direction.

 _I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m doing, but this is fun._ The last fish narrowly escaped his teeth and made a break for the safety of deeper water. Up to his knees in the pond, Tom trotted to a stop and shook himself out in an effort to dry off. _I’m just glad that Precious isn’t out here with me. I’m sure I’d never hear the end of this from him._

Just as the thought occurred to him he felt eyes on him and whipped around with his teeth bared and hackles raised, not knowing what he might potentially come face to face with and ready to turn back at a moment’s notice should he discover that he needed his wand. But the instant that Tom caught sight of what was staring at him he relaxed and rose from his crouched posture. Gazing warily at him from across the pond was a deer. Or, more accurately, a stag. Its fur coat was reduced to almost black in the darkness and its wide antlers, sharp bone bared in the absence of velvet like the winter-stripped branches of the surrounding trees, glinted a soft silvery hue in the minimal light which managed to make its way through the cloud cover and trees.

Judging him harmless, the much larger animal proceeded delicately to the edge of the water and lowered its head to drink. He stood there in the cold, dark water and watched it go about its business there. Remaining perfectly still as it finished its drink, raised its head once more to look at him, then turned away and melted back into the surrounding trees.

The thrill of his new form’s speed and grace and the annoyance of the basic skills he’d have to relearn in order to believably pass as an animal melted away. Replaced by a pointed desire to return immediately to the dorms, crawl beside his lover and hold him until dawn.

He couldn’t leave the forest behind quickly enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shapeshifting isn't all it's cracked up to be: seems that there are certain things they don't mention in the text books.  
> My dog does the same thing with fish, so that's where I got that idea.  
> Having said that I think this is probably my least favorite chapter: I feel like it's badly written but maybe that's just me.


	38. A Serpent's Past

“You’ve really made an appointment to speak with Dumbledore about him, Ginny?”

“I have,” she quickly shoved the paper she’d been working on into her bag. “We couldn’t properly investigate Tom Riddle without at least one of us speaking to the only Professor who ever saw through his veneer. Not to mention it would go a long way for preventing any claims that we’re throwing around baseless accusations for the Headmaster to be aware that we have been doing research.” Ginny pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you and Luna at lunch. We’ll go and see McGonagall about him afterwards. We need to do our best to put an end to him being here as soon as possible; not only has this already gone on for too long, he’s become comfortable enough to start making threats.”

“Not only that, but Harry is starting to get mad as well. Do you really think that what we’re doing is such a good idea?”

“He’s not in his right mind, Neville. Just like I wasn’t, back then.” She told him. “He’ll thank us once we’ve ripped Riddle’s claws out of him. I’ll see you later.”

She stepped up into the portrait hole and exited the common room without another word, descending from Gryffindor tower and quickly making her way through the corridors of the Castle towards the Headmaster’s office. After reciting the password she’d been alerted to in the note that she’d received, she scaled the staircase hidden behind the statue of the gargoyle and knocked on the door at the top.

“Come in.” With permission granted, Ginny pushed open the door and stepped inside. Dumbledore, who had at the time been standing at the window of his study, turned towards her with a small smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Ms. Weasley. You wished to speak with me about Tom Riddle?”

“I did, Sir.”

“Might I inquire about the reasons behind your sudden interest in the young man who Lord Voldemort once was?”

“I know it’s been four years since what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, Sir,” Fawkes ruffled his feathers and sidled slightly to the right on his perch, “but I’ve never fully gotten over what happened. Over my contact with…him. I suppose that I was hoping that you could answer some of my lingering questions: you did teach him while he was a student here at Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, crossing the room to the bird stand and offering the Phoenix sitting there a Lemon Sherbert. “Thomas Marvolo Riddle truly is a lost soul. Born under the effects of a powerful love potion to a father who did not want him and a mother who survived only long enough to name him, raised at a Muggle orphanage which taught him hate instead of love, thrown into a House which turned on him because they believed he had ‘dirty blood’ and ultimately becoming the wielder of power which was dropped by fate and a nearly moldered book into his lap.”

His voice was solemn and tinged with sadness.

“It was through the pain of isolation that he turned to the power which Darkness offered, and it was in the crucible of loathing-of the Muggle world which ostracized him because he was different than them, the Magical world which wanted nothing to do with him until the truth of his bloodline came to light, and of himself who he viewed as weak for hurting in the absence of the love of friends and family-that the monster our world now knows as the Dark Lord was born.”

The Headmaster shook his head.

“I wish that I had done more for him while he was still able to be saved. Had someone been there to love him, and offer him the chance to learn to love in return, it is my belief that he would have turned out to be a good person.” The small smile returned. “Regardless of his numerous insistences otherwise.”

“You’re saying that we should have pity for him, Sir?”

“Sympathy. As I told Harry before he left at the beginning of the year in order to attend to matters of concern, even the Darkest of men are born babies. Not evil. Sympathy, empathy and understanding are necessary tools in defeating our enemies so that we do not ourselves become worse than them.”

“But it’s too late for him now, isn’t it?”

He nodded solemnly. “Sadly, it is indeed. Through conventional methods.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes glittered merrily at the sight of Ginny’s confusion. “Does that answer your questions, Ms. Weasley?”

“I suppose, Sir.” She said. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

“Of course. Should you find yourself with any other questions, feel free to turn to myself or any other staff members: help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. Now, I believe that you should be heading to lunch?”

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

That had been…less than informative. Confused, she left the Headmaster’s office and headed down to the Great Hall. Ignoring the snide comment of a Slytherin girl who passed her by on the way into the Hall she headed towards the table draped in red and gold. Tom sat smiling and laughing, arms wrapped around Harry like pythons as he put on some sort of charade to gain the attention of those surrounding them. Frowning, she skirted around them and headed to the far end of the table.

It wasn’t long before Neville joined her. “How did it go?”

“To be honest with you, Neville, I don’t really know.” She said. “It was almost as if he were purposefully talking in circles. Maybe Ron is right about him having begun to go senile. I suppose that it’s reasonable, to a point, to have an understanding for the Humanity of your enemy but it’s almost as if he feels sorry for the Dark Lord. And he said a few things that were strange.”

“Like what?”

“When the topic of his being beyond saving came up he said that he was, through ‘conventional means’. Though what that means I have no idea.” Ginny told him, filling her plate with whatever was nearby, “I just hope that Professor McGonagall proves to be more informative.”

The rest of the meal passed in relative peace through forced conversation regarding absolutely anything else. Eventually the platters and plates filled with food began to empty, and with them crowds of students began to filter out of the room. The staff table emptied quickly, the Professors returning to their offices to attend to grading and their various other duties. The raven and dark brunet had risen from their bench now; Tom hissed something flirtatious into Harry’s ear, causing the other boy to color slightly, and then dragged him out of the Great Hall. Eventually, Luna wandered over to them from the now almost empty Ravenclaw table.

“We’re going to speak with Professor McGonagall, now?” she asked as the two Gryffindors rose from the Lion House table.

“Yes, we are.” Ginny said, pushing the bench that she’d been sitting on back under the red and gold draped table. “She should be in her office now, and will hopefully be willing to speak with us on the matter.”

Professor McGonagall was, indeed, in her office on the first floor of the Castle when they arrived at the door. A fire crackled in the large stone hearth behind the desk at which the Transfiguration Professor sat, dressed as usual in her emerald green cloak and hat and looked up at them rather sharply when they entered.

“Ms. Weasley, Ms. Lovegood, Mr. Longbottom. Is there something I can do to help the three of you?”

“We think so, Professor.” Ginny said as Neville shifted uncomfortably and Luna looked around in a somewhat glazed manner. “Given the potential for war with the Dark to breakout at any moment, the three of us decided that we should be best served to do as much research into them as possible so that we can assist Harry and the Order of the Phoenix to the best of our abilities.”

“Given that all three of you were all a part of Potter’s ill-conceived banned Defense Against the Dark Arts class last year,” she sounded anything but scolding and appeared to be struggling against a smile, “I’m not at all surprised. Have a seat.”

All three did as they were told.

“Ginger newt?” their Professor indicated a small tin sitting open on the corner of her desk.

“No thank you, Professor.” Neville said, a sentiment which was reflected by Ginny.

“Oh, that sounds marvelous. Thank you.” Luna leaned forward to happily take one of the cookies. “Though you shouldn’t leave the tin open like that. Ginger flavored foods are known to attract Gulping Plimpies, after all.”

At least it wasn’t Wrackspurts this time.

“You have been doing research into Dark Magic, have you?”

“Oh, no, not Dark Magic. We’ve actually been more focused on…researching our opponents themselves.” She told her, picking nervously at the arm of the chair which she was sitting in. “We were wondering…what can you tell us about Tom Riddle?”

The reluctant upturn to her lips vanished, McGonagall’s face instantly resuming its typical stern expression. “Why would you come to me to ask about the boy that the Dark Lord used to be? Surely there are better people whom you could speak to on the matter, Ms. Weasley. Such as the Headmaster.”

“We’ve already spoken to almost everyone who could possibly have known him, Professor. Professor Dumbledore, Professor Hagrid, Moaning Myrtle, the Grey Lady. But there are still a few holes in the picture that we’ve managed to put together and, since we heard that you went to school with him, we thought that maybe you could fill them in?”

Professor McGonagall huffed and sat back in her chair behind the desk. Seeing no way out of answering their questions, the Deputy Headmistress adjusted her squared-off spectacles before beginning to speak.

“Thomas Marvolo Riddle was always…odd. Even for a wizard. From the beginning he had a Dark aura around him and he seemed almost hollow. When I first met him it was on the Hogwarts Express: when I saw him sitting in an empty compartment alone I offered to sit with him, but he simply stared at me until I walked away. Perhaps if he’d wound up in any of the other three Houses he’d have merely remained antisocial and cold, but the Sorting Hat chose to put him into Slytherin. Sorted him without even being fully put on; in all my years I’ve never once seen it display such behavior again as it did on that night. Snake House was not kind to him.”

One of the logs in the fire behind her crumbled in half and fell with a pop and a crackle.

“They saw a small, scrawny boy in threadbare secondhand robes who did not know his parents and bore a Muggle’s name. They branded him as a Muggleborn and for almost four years they tormented him ruthlessly. The endless attacks inflamed his paranoia and slowly transformed his inherent apathy into white hot rage. Many of us, myself included, felt sorry for him but between the already present school-wide ill-will towards the members of Slytherin House perpetuated by the older students and the fact that any effort to reach out to him were met with increasingly hostile reactions our sympathy quickly disappeared. The message that Thomas wanted nothing to do with friendship was very clear. But everything truly began to go downhill towards the end of our Second year when he came out of the Forbidden Forest with a venomous snake and Armando Dippet let him keep it.”

Neville and Ginny exchanged a glance.

“He spent the entirety of his third year searching for his blood-line and left Hogwarts in a better mood then I had ever seen him. When Thomas returned he’d grown, transforming from a small boy into a tall and strapping young man despite the rationing in the Muggle world which had begun because of the war. He subdued the House which had tormented him for so long, going from an outcast to a God in their eyes, and he demanded to be treated as nothing less. Rumors spread that he was, in fact, the sole remaining Heir of Salazar Slytherin. And bad things began to happen to those who had oppressed him and those who dared to continue to oppose him. Pets would go missing and turn up later brutally tortured and killed. Serpents would find their way into beds and trunks and showers. Younger students who found themselves alone with him were never the same. He took from his Head of House the idea of forming an inner circle of his favored classmates-those from Slytherin whom he could control-and the things which he got up to with them- _aside_ from practicing illegal magic-could only be described as utter debauchery!”

She paused to clear her head of evidently unwanted thoughts and images.

“When our Fifth year came around he was appointed as a Prefect of his House, as I was on mine, giving him all but free reign to roam the halls at all hours and do as he pleased. I very nearly had to run myself ragged to prevent him from abusing his power and destroying the school! And so, when Myrtle Warren was found dead one night in the first floor bathroom after being chased there by the bullying of members of her own House, I wasn’t surprised. Thomas’ unnatural fascination with the removal of her body made it all but certain that he had been involved in it somehow, despite Hagrid being expelled for the incident. He made a point to behave for the rest of the year, knowing that Dumbledore was watching him. In our sixth year he made use of his silver tongue and Horace Slughorn’s inability to recognize manipulation to become Head Boy despite everything he’d done and even while not being in his final year, using him to get a recommendation for the position which he used to bend Dippet to his will. And by the time that we graduated from Hogwarts he’d even begun to change in appearance. His cheeks hollowed and his eyes shadowed, and he became oddly protective of both his diary and his family ring.”

Professor McGonagall’s gaze was severe behind her glasses, face set in a look of distaste.

“It was no great shock to me that, despite his vast intelligence, he immediately went into a career as a snake-oil salesmen peddling Dark objects for the likes of Caractacus Burke. The next that I heard of him was a handful of years later: by that point he’d gone entirely insane with power and had begun the first Wizarding War. Now, I believe that answers your question. If the three of you have nothing further to ask I’m going to have to ask the three of you to leave so that I can finish grading the papers which were recently turned into me by my Fourth year class.”

“No, Professor, we don’t have any more questions.” Ginny said as she got up from her chair. “Thank you for giving us the answers that you have. I think we have a good picture of him now.”

“I don’t see how any of that could help us, Ginny.” Neville said as soon as the door of the office had closed behind them. “We’ve learned a few new things, sure, but I don’t think any of that will be useful.”

“The last thing that she said is: he was protective of both the diary _and_ his family ring. The diary was destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets and is still in the Headmaster’s office, so the object that Harry came into contact with while he was abroad _has_ to be the ring!” She sped her pace. “We need to get that ring away from him and destroy it somehow!”

“I’m not so sure anymore that what you believe is going on is really going on.” Luna said, beginning to drift away towards a separate corridor. “I think I’m going to go and consult with Professor Trewlaney on the matter while you do that.”

Ginny didn’t even make an attempt at slowing down, leaving Neville to make a split second decision regarding which of the two girls to follow. The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open to allow them into the common room.

“Tom took Harry out of the Great Hall at the end of lunch: they might be up in the dorms. Come on.” She drew her wand as soon as they were on the stairs, Neville slightly more hesitant to follow her example. They reached the top of the stairs to the 6th year boy’s dormitories quickly and Ginny’s eyes ricocheted around the room. Taking in the sight of the empty bunks all around them, Nagini’s coiled form sleeping atop Tom’s pillow and the drawing secured around Harry’s bed from behind which a muffled whimper issued.

The red-head practically threw herself across the room with Neville right on her heels, his former nervousness forgotten and both of their wands raised. She ripped the drawings back from the bed, expecting to find herself confronted with a horrifying scene of torture and pain, and froze. Eyes widening as her face immediately began to burn.

Harry lay sprawled on his back atop his bed, knees pulled up towards his heaving chest covered in a sheen of sweat and head thrown back in ecstasy, scattering his raven hair across the sheets in all directions. Eyes squeezed tightly shut as he bit his lips in an only mostly successful attempt at keeping himself quiet. One of his hands fisted in the sheets beside him and the other buried firmly in Tom’s hair. The dark brunet was shirtless but, unlike the raven, still in a state of half dress. One hand was firmly secured to Harry’s hip to prevent the smaller male from bucking upwards and choking him and the other-the one bearing the now entirely forgotten ring-was seeing to what little his mouth couldn’t quite reach.

If it were possible to die from mortification, Neville probably would have keeled over then and there. And Harry wouldn’t have been all that far behind him once he realized that their activities were being observed.

“Nnh…nnh… _oh shit, Ginny!_ ” He snatched up his pillow from where it had been lying beside his head and began an honest effort at smothering himself in a futile attempt to hide the blush which had spread all the way down to his chest.

Tom, pupils blown wide with lust, released Harry with a soft pop and sat back. Reaching up to wipe a thin trickle of drool from his chin and not even bothering to make an attempt at hiding his own arousal. “Do you mind?”

“… …” Struck dumb and slack jawed, Ginny simply stared.

“We heard,” Neville squeaked, swallowing thickly before trying again, “we thought…n-never mind. Carry on.”

The dark brunet yanked the drawings back into place after casting a Silencing Charm for good measure. Neville and Ginny both remained standing precisely where they were a few moments longer before turning away.

“I don’t need that image stuck in my head, Ginny.” Neville told her shakily as they finally headed for the stairs, looking pale and slightly clammy. “Obliviate me, would you?”

“Only if you Obliviate me first.”

Annoyed, Tom returned his attention to his abashed lover as soon as he heard their latest annoyance leave the room.

“They’re gone, love.” He soothed, stretched himself out beside him and pressing his lips into the soft flesh just above the raven’s hip. “You don’t need to hide.”

“I’m going to die of embarrassment, Tom!”

“Don’t exaggerate.” He began to slowly move upwards. Inch by inch. Imparting small chaste kisses across alabaster skin.

“I can never show my face to either of them again.”

“They’re going down to Obliviate each other as we speak, Precious. Which is lucky for them: the only one allowed to see, and remember, your full glory is me and if they weren’t doing it of their own accord I’d have to hunt them down to do it myself.” Tom growled.

“Please, someone, just kill me!”

“No one is going to kill you.”

“I _knew_ we should have used the Silencing Charm to begin with!” He bemoaned into the pillow still covering his face.

“It was your idea not to in the first place: wanting to prove to me that you could keep quiet.” Tom’s mouth roved across Harry’s stomach and started up his chest.

“Against my own better judgement!”

“Somehow,” Tom purred, gently wrestling the pillow away from him to reveal his face, “I get the feeling that most of what you do and have done in the past could, in retrospect, be found to be ‘against your better judgement’ pet.” He claimed the smaller male’s lips with his own and kissed him deep and long until the last traces of embarrassment had gone out of him. “So, my love, shall we continue where we left off?”

“I…” Harry’s green eyes fell away from his and onto their clasped hands. “I’m sorry, Tom, but after that I don’t think I can…you know.”

Another small peck placed against his left temple. “Don’t apologize, Harry.” The dark brunet flopped down beside him and grinned. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to beat myself off, but I still remember how to do it.” Tom told him. “Would you rather I do so in my own bunk?”

“No,” Harry nestled closer to his partner and leaned his head against his shoulders, absently beginning to draw senseless patterns across the muscled contours of his chest. “Stay. Not only would Nagini most certainly not be pleased to have you disturbing her over such a thing, I’m sure it’ll be easier for you if I’m here.”

“That it would, Precious,” he said, Harry’s cheek pressing lightly into the curve of his jaw, “but what I think you mean to say ‘I want to watch’.”

Harry shrugged slightly. “I’m not going to deny it.”

“And to think you tried to tell me that you don’t have any kinks.”

“You all but offered me a show, Tom.”

“I did, indeed, _all but_ offer you a show.” He replied with a smirk. “Would you like one?” Graceful, long fingered hands slid down over his flat stomach and plucked teasingly at the waistband of the slacks he still wore. “If you would, I’d be all too pleased to give you one.” The top button came undone with a soft pop and the zipper was swiftly pulled down. “So tell me, Harry,” those dark eyes met his, so close that their lips almost brushed and Tom’s hot breath fanned across his face, “shall I touch myself for you?”

The raven’s mouth had suddenly gone very dry: he tried twice to speak, but after repeatedly only managing to produce a hoarse noise he simply nodded.

Another kiss was gently pressed to his temple before he spoke into his ear. “As you wish, Precious.”

Slowly, teasingly, he pulled down his slacks. Lifting his hips off the mattress and pushing his last articles of clothing down to his knees. Revealing the pale flesh of strong thighs and his reddened, leaking member standing erect amidst a nest of dark hair.

Harry’s hand slid down to rest against the taller male’s stomach, trailing gooseflesh in the wake of blunt nails as he traced his fingers along an old scar which had gouged a raised silver slash mark from the bottom of his ribcage to the flare of his hip as one of Tom’s took his place on his chest. Dragging down over each of his ribs. Circling and flicking pink, perked buds as his other hand slowly wrapped around his hot flesh, encircling it finger by finger until his grip was secured around his hardened member.

“Precious,” Tom hissed in Parseltongue as he began to slowly stroke himself. Letting his head fall back and his wet lips part as his pace steadily increased. “So good.”

Harry could feel Tom’s body shaking underneath him. His heart beat thundering in his ear and his breathing ragged. Muscle’s rippling fluidly under his palm. Pulse thudding in his neck. He shuddered, his back arching, as he brought himself to completion before reaching for his wand to clean himself up.

“Well,” his pale skin was now flushed with a pleasant pink tint, “now that that’s done with, what would you like to do to fill the rest of our Saturday?”

“I’d be fine with doing anything, but don’t have anything particular in mind. Though we should probably get dressed before someone else comes barging through my drawings.” Harry said as he pushed himself upright. “Is there something that you would like to do?”

“Want to see if we can get into the Room of Requirement? I’m suffering a bit of an ivory itch: I really want to play the piano.”

Both got up from the bed and quickly redressed, then stepped out from behind the drawings of his bed. Tom’s shirt hung open over his sculpted chest and his pants rode low on his hips. Harry stared openly at his smirking boyfriend as he tossed his school robe onto his bed and quickly began to button up his shirt.

“Sex-hair looks spectacular on you, Precious.” The dark brunet pulled him close and squeezed him briefly before taking his hand. “Let’s go.”

They descended the dormitory stairs and crossed the common room-Harry making a point not to look in the direction of Ginny and Neville-before exiting into the corridors outside. Harry wasn’t expecting much in the way of their chances, given the fact that they’d managed to get into the Room of Requirement _once_ so far in the entire semester, so when the door popped into being he was minorly surprised. Tom turned the knob and pulled him through the door.

The Room of Hidden Things had only grown more cluttered since Tom’s time, now including such items as tables scattered with lost and broken wands, a teapot with chicken legs and a cage containing the skeleton of some sort of exotic creature which Harry had never seen before. The dark brunet led the way through the labyrinth of detritus, winding his way between hillocks and crevices in search of the piano.

The raven’s surprise, as they were passing the Vanishing Cabinet, Tom stopped and moved towards it. Stepping over a scattering of shredded apples and mutilated sparrows he cautiously opened one of its doors.

“Someone has been messing with this.” He noted, swinging the door open and closed and then beginning to examine the hinges and shelves. “It almost looks like they were trying to repair it. The question is, why?” when Harry didn’t respond, Tom turned. “Harry?” a brief examination of the area found the raven attempting to climb up the side of the nearest mound, gaze cautiously set on what looked like a silver tiara. “ _Precious, Stop!”_

The other boy jumped, nearly losing his grip, and turned his head to glare at him.

“Didn’t you hear my warning about not touching anything in here the first time that we came to this room? Things are left in here for a reason: a lot of the junk making up these piles are Dark objects. Come down!”

“It’s talking, Tom.”

“Talking?” the dark brunet repeated. “What’s talking? I don’t hear anything.”

“The tiara.”

“Well, don’t _listen to it_!”

“I’m not-it’s hissing, anyway-I just want to see what it is.”

“Hissing?” Tom scrambled up after him and caught his ankle to pin him in place. “You mean Parseltongue?”

“No. Like…white noise, I guess. It’s not saying anything, it’s just sound. Now let go of me, I only want to-.”

“No! Messing around with the contraband of the past is _not_ why we came in here, Potter!” His sharp authority melted almost immediately, a pleading tone invading his dark voice. “Please, Harry. Leave it. Let’s just go find the piano.”

The raven continued clinging to the side of the mound for a while longer, green eyes set the sapphire dangling from the ridiculous looking headdress which continued its garbled murmuring just below his range of comprehensive hearing, before he sighed and released his grip. Allowing Tom to yank him back to safety.

“Merlin, don’t scare me like that!” He chided, holding him at arm’s length as if to examine him for injuries before abruptly seizing his hand and beginning to drag him in the direction of the piano. “Let’s just go. _Before_ you get any other ideas and try climbing after something else while I’m not looking!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting: I had a bit of a wild New Year and things got away from me.   
> Just a little heads up for a coming delay in the future: I'm going to be on vacation for approximately a week starting on the 7th and will not be able to post during that time.  
> Thank you all for your patience.


	39. An Explosive Situation

Despite the fact that the images themselves had been thankfully erased, Ginny was still very much aware of what it was that they’d been doing when she and Neville had stumbled upon them. She had known that the monster was preying on him, but to know exactly how he was doing it-and to have it be in such an intimate way-was absolutely horrifying.

Forget the efforts to unearth his identity through the civil manner of asking questions about the past. Forget bringing his presence to irrefutable light and allowing the adults to deal with it. Forget attempting to corral Luna and Neville into assisting her. Enough was enough.

It was time that she took things into her own hands.

Ginny pulled the fireworks out from under her bed and hurriedly shrunk them, shoving them into the pockets of her robes and straightening up. Quickly carding a hand through her long red hair in order to dislodge any stubbornly clinging dust bunnies, she lowered herself onto the edge of her mattress and looked over at the emerald envelope she’d been given with the request that it be passed on to Harry.

Unknowingly, Slughorn had provided her with what was potentially the perfect opportunity to do away with the brunet bastard once and for all. With any luck at all things would go as planned and, by the time they had finished whatever business the Potion’s Master wanted with them, curfew would be close enough that the corridors would be mostly empty.

She found the pair down in the common room; Tom, with Nagini asleep at his feet by the fire, sat reading a book on Ancient Runes while Harry, beside him, was engaged in a conversation with her brother about Quidditch. Both looked up when she stopped in front of them and Harry colored slightly, no doubt recalling the incident from a few nights prior.

“Ginny,” to his credit, he managed to keep a stutter out of his voice, “is there something that I can help you with?”

Tom was now watching them sharply over the top of his book.

“I was asked to deliver this to the two of you at dinner.” Ginny held out the envelope towards him. Harry’s green eyes lit up with a strange mix of anticipation, surprise and relief before he reached out to take it. “It’s from Professor Slughorn. From what I understand, he wants to speak with the two of you. Says that he’s ‘come to a conclusion he thinks that you’ll be pleased with regarding your request’.”

“That’s marvelous news.” Tom snapped the book that he’d been reading shut and rose gracefully from his seat. “Absolutely splendid. We should go and collect the…information immediately, Precious, as I’m sure that the Headmaster would be pleased to advance our efforts as quickly as possible. Merlin knows the Dark Lord isn’t going to wait.”

Harry took the dark brunet’s offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright. “You’re right; if we’re quick about it we should be able to make it to both Slughorn and Dumbledore before curfew.” He glanced back over at her brother. “I’ll see you later, Ron.”

“Watch yourself if you’re late, Harry. Hermione’s on rounds tonight and we all know that she’s not going to cut anyone any slack, even if you are her bloody friend and from her House.”

“Such would be against her nature.” Tom offered a small smile before placing his ring-adorned hand on the small of Harry’s back and sweeping him over to the portrait hole. “Ron has a point, my love. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not lose House points to one of our own Prefects.”

“Me neither,” the raven said as he pushed the portrait open and stepped down into the corridor beyond. “You really think that he’s going to give us the memory, Tom?”

“You and I both know that Horace Slughorn is not exactly the type of man who is brave enough to call us into his office just to tell us ‘no’.” Tom told him, taking his hand as the Fat Lady’s portrait began to close behind them. “If he weren’t going to give us what we are after he’d be trying to hide from us, not inviting us down for,” he pulled the letter from the envelope to examine it “a drink.”

“But do you really think that he’s going to give us the _real_ memory? Or just another fake one?” Harry asked him as they began to descend the stairs into the Dungeons. “He’s done it once. So why not again?”

“I’d like to think that it’s because he knows better than to risk forcing my hand.” Tom growled as they left the stairs and set out across the Dungeon floor. “Though, I suppose, we’ll simply have to wait and see. Won’t we, Precious.”

He knocked three times on the Potion’s Master’s door.

“Professor Slughorn,” he called, a dangerous purring quality to his voice which made Harry shiver. “We’re here, Sir. To…speak with you.”

Moments later the door swung open, revealing the nervous eyes of the older man on the other side. “Oh, Harry. T-Tom. I had begun to wonder when…well, I suppose you both had best come in.”

He edged aside to let them pass. Tom, still with his hand tightly wrapped around Harry’s, strode casually into the room and heading over to the two chairs which had been positioned opposite the desk. He pulled out one of the chairs for Harry, only sitting down himself once sure that the raven had settled in.

“Forgive my forwardness and don’t think that we’re not grateful for your offer to…share a drink with you, Sir.” Tom said silkily, reaching out with his left hand to run his knuckles over Harry’s black hair and prompting the raven to roll his eyes. “But Harry and I are here on business, as I’m sure that you can understand. So before we go about opening the bottle of mead which I see you have sitting on your desk, allow the two of us to request that we first conduct our…transaction.”

“It has indeed been a while since I’ve last dealt with you, Tom, but that does not mean that I have forgotten how you prefer to operate.” Slughorn reached into the front pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a small crystal vial. Harry recognized the contents as a memory immediately. “I took the liberty of bottling this pre-emptively for the two of you.” He presented the vial to Harry, making a point of avoiding Tom as much as possible and causing the dark brunet’s expression to sour. “Please, don’t think badly of me once you have seen it. I’m sure that you know how he is, given your…relationship.”

“I do love being spoken about as if I were a piece of furniture.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry said, taking the vial with one hand and squeezing Tom’s with the other. “I do know what he used to be like, but he’s a better person now. Tom knows how to properly behave himself.”

“Can we just get around to the bloody drink?” the dark brunet grumbled.

“We are fairly short on time, Sir.” The raven told him. “We should really get this to the Headmaster tonight. So the sooner that we can have our drink the better, if that’s alright with you?”

“Of course, my dear boy. Just give me a moment.” The Potion’s Master quickly summoned three glasses onto his desk and picked up the bottle. “I picked up this bottle of fine mead back before the holidays. Intended to give it to the Headmaster as a Christmas present but never got around to it.” He said, pouring the pale liquid into the glasses and handing one to each of them. “I figured it was better not to let it go to waste. Drink up.”

Tom examined the contents of his glass critically. He wasn’t one to drink but he’d seem mead before and something about the cloudy coloring and the froth which clung to the contours of the cup was off. When he cautiously raised the glass to his face he was met with the smell of something bitter and sharp.

“ _No!”_ Harry’s glass broke when he dropped it in surprise, splashing the contents down his front. Tom’s chair tumbled backwards onto the floor with a loud crash as he threw himself across the desk, swatting the Potions Master’s glass out of his hand and then seizing him by the front of his waistcoat. Yanking him forwards and spilling the entire bottle onto the floor as well. “ _Where the bloody hell did you get that bottle from? And did the merchant know what you intended to do with it?”_

“Tom!” Harry was on his feet as well now, eyes wide behind his glasses and face pale and confused though he made no move to stop him. “What are you doing?”

But the other boy ignored him, shaking their Professor roughly with his teeth clenched. “ _Answer me, damn you! You’re the bloody Potions Master! You’re supposedly **famous** for your expertise in the subject! How could you possibly be so utterly incompetent that you almost got all three of us poisoned!”_

“Poisoned?” the raven looked down at his clothes, seemed to realize for the first time that he was covered in the laced mead, and quickly siphoned it off with his wand before any of it could soak into his skin. “With what?”

“Cyanide.” Tom hissed, releasing their Professor and allowing him to almost fall forward onto the drenched desk. “Which, quite frankly, is absolutely ingenious as it’s a highly potent Muggle poison that is able to pass all but the most rigorous magical inspection. Necessary when trying to nail someone like Dumbledore, who I doubt is dumb enough to not at least vaguely inspect all his food and drink. Now, I’ll repeat my questions: who did you buy it from and did they know what you intended to do with it?”

“Oh…I…yes, well…I purchased the mead from Madam Rosmerta down at the Three Broomsticks during the last Hogs-meade weekend before the Christmas holidays. Part of the reason that I never got around to giving it to the Headmaster was because she didn’t get it to me on time: claimed that she’d been out of stock and had to import it.”

“From where?”

“Sweden, I believe.”

“And did this ‘Madam Rosmerta’ know that you intended to give that particular bottle to Albus Dumbledore or not?”

Slughorn looked away.

“Please, Professor, answer our question.” Harry pleaded over Tom’s annoyed hiss. “We need to know.”

“…” the older man relented with a rather guilty sounding sigh. “I may have mentioned it at some point, yes.”

The dark brunet took Harry by the arm and pulled him over to the corner of the room before bowing his forehead to his and slipping into Parseltongue for good measure.

“ _Poisoned mead meant for the Headmaster is not what I expected us to run into tonight and is the last thing that we need: it complicates matters of dealing with locating my Counterpart’s Horcruxes even further. What do you know of this ‘Madam Rosmerta’, is anything at all?”_

 _“I don’t **know** her, but as far as I know of her she’s a good person. The current owner of the Three Broomsticks Inn in Hogs-meade village.” _ Harry told him. _“She’s not the type of person who would do this, Tom.”_

_“Perhaps not of her own accord. Perhaps your assessment of her character was wrong. Either way, I doubt that that bottle was poisoned at random in Sweden and just so happened to nearly make it into Dumbledore’s hands by mere coincidence. I think it’s safe to come to the conclusion that someone is trying to kill him.”_

Harry’s eyes widened, his blood running cold. “ _Malfoy!”_ He hissed. “ _It must be Malfoy, Tom! That must be the task that he mentioned being assigned! Killing Dumbledore!”_

“ _Perhaps. Though I have to say that that seems like a bit of a stretch. Pitting a student against someone as powerful as Albus Dumbledore is doubtful to result in the student coming out on top.”_ Tom said. _“Then again who better to get into Hogwarts, and passed his guard, than a student? Regardless, we’ll have to consider poking around to do this upcoming Hogs-meade weekend.”_

He stepped away from the raven and turned back towards the desk, picking up the bottle and allowing what little of the mead that hadn’t splattered all across the desktop to slosh back to the bottom.

“We’ll be taking this as well, if you don’t mind Professor. Thank you kindly.”

Without another word and with one hand secured around the neck of the bottle and the other on Harry’s forearm he turned and hauled him out of the Potion’s Master’s office and back up from the Dungeons. He charted a course for the gargoyle without missing a beat.

“Keep an eye out for the Caretaker and that damned bloody cat!” Tom’s voice was almost harsh when he spoke, his grip briefly tightening and then loosening again. “Curfew and its approach be damned and the memory that we just acquired aside, it’s of tantamount importance that Dumbledore be alerted to the fact that his life may be in danger immediately!”

“You almost sound like you care, Tom.”

Harry had expected the other boy to scoff at him or roll his eyes but continue down the corridor without stopping. When he wound up pinned to the stone wall instead, Tom’s hands planted firmly on either side of his head and his wide chest pressing into his own, he couldn’t suppress a gasp of surprise.

“I do care. But not in the way that you think.” When he spoke his voice was smooth, but the raven could hear the tension wound tight beneath the dark brunet’s satin tones. “I do not give a single toss about Albus Dumbledore. Not in the slightest. I no longer personally want to see him dead, I would no longer lift a finger myself towards his demise, but were he to die I wouldn’t particularly care. Not for him. You know how I operate, Harry. I see the entire world in four colors. My opponents, those who I can use, those who I cannot use, and those who matter to me: black, white, clear and gold. I am gold. And so are you. You: the only thing in this Godforsaken world that means anything to me. It’s because I fear for your safety in a world where Albus Dumbledore no longer exists that I seek to prevent his death.”

“I don’t understand, Tom.” Harry spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, but with their close proximity he knew Tom heard every word. “I don’t understand how it would make any difference in regards to me. Regardless of whether the Headmaster lives or dies, it won’t affect Voldemort’s plans for me.

“So naïve, my precious angel.” He replied in a voice which was equally soft. The firelight of a nearby torch danced wildly in his dark eyes. “Where it’s true that, even now, Dumbledore stands more between Voldemort and Wizarding Britain as a whole than Voldemort and you he does still offer you an immense deal of protection by doing so. As long as Dumbledore lives, my counterpart cannot gain control over the Ministry of Magic. As long as he cannot gain control over the Ministry of Magic you do not have to run and hide like a hunted animal in order to survive. As long as you remain free to move, we have a better chance of finding and destroying his remaining Horcruxes.”

He let his arms fall but didn’t step back from him.

“Not to mention that preserving him as the leader of the Light in the war will save a good margin of your sanity, Precious. For it is the leaders of war, those who make the decisions and must bear the consequences, who suffer the most once all of it is over. You’re a symbol for them. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One. The only one, aside from him, fit to bear up the blazing sword of revolution. Should the Phoenix fall, they’ll turn to the Stag to guide them and I don’t want to see you changed because you were forced to bear the burden of carnage alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Tom, because I’ll have the Fox with me won’t I?”

Tom’s lips pulled up into an unwilling smirk and he stepped back. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Always.”

The dark brunet rolled his eyes but held out his hand for him to take. Harry wasted no time in accepting the invitation. “Come on, Precious. I think we’ve spent enough time in this hallway.”

If they’d been walking quickly before, they were openly jogging now, and reached the door of the Headmaster’s office only moments later.

“Good evening, Harry. Tom.” His eyes fell on the almost empty bottle of mead still clutched in one of Tom’s hands. “Might I ask what the two of you are doing here so late and with a bottle of mead? You are both aware that students are not permitted to possess alcohol on the grounds of the school, regardless of whether they’re of age.”

“Drinking this is the last thing on either of our minds. Neither Harry nor I have much of a taste for Cyanide, after all.” He dropped the bottle on the desk with a solid clunk. “It was meant as a gift for you, but Slughorn never got around to delivering it so he decided to invite was down to help him finish it instead. Luckily I, in Harry’s words, am a Human Nargle and noticed that it was poisoned in time. It seemed a bit too much of a coincidence, and Harry and I thought that you should be made aware of the fact that you may be in danger.”

“Horace intended to give this bottle to me?” Dumbledore picked up the all but empty bottle of mead and examined it. “A fine mead. Seemingly imported from Sweden, at least according to the label.” He took a cautious whiff of the contents. “Subtle notes of cherries, current and bitter almond. You are correct in both deducing that this bottle has been spiked with poison was used though I would have expected nothing less from you Tom.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

“Do you know where Horace came by this bottle?”

“He told us that he got it from Madam Rosmerta, Professor.” Harry told him. “That it was delivered from the Three Broomsticks.”

“Of course that’s not much of a lead. We’ve no way of knowing if someone somehow learned of its intended recipient and poisoned the bottle on the way into Britain, if someone intercepted the runner tasked with delivering it or if Madam Rosmerta herself slipped the Cyanide into the mead.” Tom said. “We’d heed to look more into it in order to know for sure.”

“This is not something that students should concern themselves with. No matter how lucky or gifted they are. I shall alert my most trusted members of staff to handle the matter.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Of course, Sir.” Tom looked to his companion. “Harry?”

The raven reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the little vial they’d been given. “We managed to retrieve the unaltered memory, Sir.”

Dumbledore rose from where he sat behind his desk. “Into the Pensive, if you would Harry. It’s best that we confirm our suspicions regarding the number of Voldemort’s Horcruxes as soon as possible.” As Harry headed towards the cabinet which contained the Pensive, the Headmaster leveled his gaze back on Tom. “Something the matter, Tom?”

“The matter? Not particularly, no. It’s merely that…” Tom paused for a moment before continuing to speak, watching Harry pour the silver contents of the vial into the Pensive. “It’s merely that I feel as if I could better serve our ultimate goal by heading back down into the Chamber of Secrets and continuing to practice both the Patronus Charm and my newest…skill. Considering that the contents of the memory we received isn’t really new information and that anything that is discovered can simply be conveyed to me later by Harry.”

“You would prefer to leave rather than view the unaltered memory?”

“With your permission, Sir.”

Harry looked on as Dumbledore mulled over the other boy’s request for a moment before nodding slowly. “Very well, Tom. Though I’ll have to ask that you do your best to get back to Gryffindor tower at a reasonable time.”

The dark brunet bowed his head. “Of course, Professor.” He then smiled at Harry and said “I’ll see you later, Precious,” before leaving the office again.

Tom’s hand dipped briefly into his pocket to grip the handle of his wand as he set out down one of the lesser used corridors. Better to take the long way then risk running into Filch or Mrs. Norris, especially with what he had in mind to practice that night.

Not only did he feel confident that he might _finally_ be able to produce a workable, if not fully corporeal, Patronus but he wanted to begin examination of the possibility for partial Animagus transformation.

One never knew when improved senses or claws might come in handy, after all.

Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rise, Tom came to an abrupt stop and pressed himself into the shadows before examining the area. Searching first for the form of the Squib Caretaker and then for the form of his unpleasant cat but finding neither of them. Perhaps it had been the gaze of a ghost he’d felt? Or one of the denizens of a portrait? But nothing floated near the ceiling overhead and the few portraits in that particular dark and far removed hallway were all asleep.

Maybe he’d imagined it.

Regardless of whether the continued creeping feeling of eyes on him was real or merely a figment of his own mind, Tom still made it a point to draw his wand before peeling himself off of the wall and continuing down the hallway at a slightly quicker pace.

He only made it a handful of steps before a high pitched shriek made him turn on his heel. An instinctive flick of his wand was the only thing that prevented whatever had been coming towards him from meeting its mark, instead sending it flying out the nearest window with the crash of breaking glass where it promptly exploded into a flurry of silver stars.

A firework?

Tom turned his head back in the direction that the firework had come from and saw her standing in the deep shadow cast by one of the pillars which held up the ceiling.

“Ginerva.” He spoke calmly but his gaze was cold as he slid into a dueling stance. His posture an unspoken but painfully obvious warning like the flattened hood of a cobra. “Out a bit late, don’t you think? Careful not to let one of the Prefects catch you, especially with those fireworks. Your brother’s products are banned, after all, and you’ll surely be in trouble should it turn out that the Professors learn one almost hit another student. Not that you meant to strike me, I’m sure.” Tom grinned sharply at her while silently casting a Muffling Charm over the corridor to prevent the drawing of unwanted attention. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to use words instead of weapons?”

The younger witch raised her wand in lee of response. “Incarcerus!”

A flick of his wrist transformed the thick rope into a serpent, which fell heavily to the tile at his feet and rounded on her with a furious hiss. Another vanished it all together.

“See reason, girl! I’ve not the patience for this!”

“Reducto!”

“Protego!” Another bottle rocket came sailing at him on the tails of the Reductor Curse, forcing him to augment the Shield Charm to deflect objects as well. “Protego Corporis!”

The bottle rocket ricocheted off the charm and exploded against the wall, causing the residents of the nearest portrait to shriek in alarm and flee from the frame.

“Stupefy!” He hissed in annoyance when Ginny deflected the spell with a Shield Charm of her own. _Damn you, Harry, for teaching the members of your D.A. so bloody well!_

Tom knew countless spells which could have ended their duel, and her annoyance, then and there through various methods of death and mutilation but he was prohibited from all of them, so with his hands tied and forced to hold back the dark brunet cursed viciously and took cover behind a nearby pillar as another bolt of blue light was sent his way.

“Petrificus Totalus!”In a desperate attempt to put an end to their squabble so that he could carry on to more important things Tom left his cover without looking and very nearly lost his head to the neon pink wheel that went spinning by with a sinister wail. His spell flew off course due to his efforts to avoid it.

“Seems like that was your last firework, Weasley!” He snarled, raising his wand again and this time being sure to take careful aim. The fact that Ginny made no effort to defend herself from his coming attack registered on him at the same time as the fact that the whizzing sound was coming back did. He turned quickly to face the firework from hell just in time for it to hit him square in the chest and mow him down.

Tom came aware again a split second later, lying on his back on the floor with his head pounding from where it had struck the stone tile and his chest on fire with pain. He was most certainly burned, there was no mistaking that, but the thrice accursed thing had been traveling with enough speed behind it that he wouldn’t be entirely surprised to discover at least one rib to be fractured or broken.

To make matters worse, his wand was out of reach and the red-haired she-demon was looming over him like the reaper himself. He couldn’t fully bite back the whine of pain when she pinned his wrist to the floor with her foot in order to rip the ring off of his hand.

  “Did you think I didn’t know what you were, you bastard?” she hissed at him once she’d managed to procure it, blessedly releasing the stress on his wrist as well. “Did you think I was going to let you feed off of him like you did off me back when I was eleven and that blonde Git slipped me your bloody diary? No. I’ve figured out where you came from and I’m going to get rid of you once and for all!”

“All that you have in your hand is a priceless family heirloom. As evidenced by the fact that I’m still lying on my arse rather than risking potentially puncturing a lung and drowning in my own blood to get it back. Which I would be if that ring was what you think it is.” Both talking and breathing too deeply hurt and Tom couldn’t quite stop himself from wincing. “Of course, that’s not to say it doesn’t have a valuable function and, accordingly, has been put under numerous powerful protections. If you want to destroy it, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Despite the pain it caused him to do so, Tom couldn’t help but laugh at the glare which Ginny sent him. At least Harry hadn’t been the one hurt this time and, on the upside of things, this little incident could prove to be an excellent test for their impromptu warning system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we finally have the end of the Tom vs Ginny arc, though it won't officially be over until the next chapter. Personally, I'm glad that part of the story is basically over.


	40. Funny the Damage a Silly Little Girl Can Do

Harry recoiled the moment that he was out of the Pensive, clutching reflexively at his throat as the delicate golden chain of the locket all but branded his skin. Blazing white hot without doing any damage at all. Confusion crashed over him like a tidal wave of ice, his mind racing in an effort to unravel the reason for the pain even as it continued to assail him. Tom had given the locket to him. Tom had admitted to putting Charms on it himself. But he would never have put a harmful Curse on it, would he? Even if he had, why would it activate suddenly now after all the time that he had already passed with him wearing it almost constantly.

He’d listed off what he’d put on it, hadn’t he? Harry felt sure that he had. But what were they, again? Opens only if spoken to in Parseltongue. Only he or Tom could remove it once it had been put on. Anyone attempting to steal it would be bitten, presumably by the clasp, as if it were a snake instead of a piece of jewelry.

 _So long as you have the locket on and I have my ring we’ll each be alerted if the other is in danger._ His heart plummeted like a stone as the locket went suddenly cold.

“Harry!” The Headmaster was in front of him, clutching at his shoulders with his hands. Despite the Curse affecting his hand, Dumbledore’s grip was extremely strong. “Harry!” The older man shook him gently, trying to get him to look at him. “Harry, what’s happened!”

“Tom.” Cold. Not back to its normal temperature but _cold_! Why was it cold? Harry met the Headmaster’s blue eyes, forcing the memory of the dark brunet’s explanation to the forefront of his mind. Willing him to understand.

“We’ll find him.”

The raven was moving before he fully realized he’d been given permission to leave the office. Pounding down the spiral staircase and nearly slamming into the gargoyle at the bottom in his haste to get out into the corridors. Nearly trampling over Ms. Norris as he broke into a run, causing the less than friendly feline to hiss furiously and bolt into the shadows no doubt in search of her Master.

Harry didn’t care. His only thoughts were for Tom. For the dark brunet who had so quickly become the best thing which had ever happened to him and the horrifying meaning which was potentially behind the locket’s sudden chill. It didn’t register on him that he was shaking like a leaf, that he’d drawn his wand at some point or even that the Headmaster was trailing a few steps behind him.

The locket would tug on his neck intermittently, dragging him down the school’s darkest corridors seemingly at random. Leading him to where Tom had been when he’d fallen injured or worse.

What had happened?

Had something broken into the Castle somehow? Death Eaters? A Dark Creature of some sort? Was it Malfoy? Or, perhaps, one of the other Slytherins? Whatever it was that was responsible, it surely must have taken him by surprise if it had managed to get the better of him.

Skidding around another corner and passing through a thin veil of Tom’s magic-likely a Silencing Charm, not that that fact registered on him in that moment as being at all significant-he saw them. Tom, motionless on the floor, robes and clothing badly singed and pale flesh burned with another figure standing over him, wand raised and pointed. Ginny.

His vision hazed over with red.

“ ** _Expelliarmus!”_** He roared, the spell so powerful that it not only knocked the wand from her hand but sent the youngest Weasley stumbling backwards. She looked up at him, hazel eyes wide with surprise, as he fell to his knees beside Tom. Heart pounding. Hands shaking. The older boy’s chest was barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. What had happened? How badly was he hurt?

“Harry?”

“ ** _What have you done?”_** he snarled, green eyes flashing savagely in the low light as he bared his teeth like a wild animal. On some level he’d known that they should have done something earlier, but Tom had assured him that he could handle himself-which, Harry knew, he could-and a part of him had understood her actions given what had happened to her. He should have known that it would escalate into this. “ ** _What have you done, Ginny? And why? Jealousy?”_**

“I’m not jealous of-!”

“ ** _Then why?”_**

“Because he’s been feeding off of you! Because he’s a parasite, just like-!”

“ ** _HE’S NOT THE BLOODY DIARY!!!”_**

“Merlin, Precious. The entire Castle is going to hear you.” Tom’s voice was quiet and strained with pain. The brunet of Harry’s anger dissipated instantly, at least for the time being, and his focus immediately snapped onto the dark brunet he held propped up protectively in his lap. “Roaring like a Dragon.”

“You’re awake?” he sounded shocked.

Tom nodded. “You thought I wasn’t?”

“You were barely breathing!”

“Because it hurts, not because I’m hurt.” His dark blue eyes slid open, meeting the raven’s worried green ones. “I’ll be as right as rain just as soon as you’ve kissed me better. Which you’ll do for me, won’t you?”

“You need to go to the Hospital Wing, Tom.”

The other boy pouted and let out a dramatic sigh. Something he immediately regretted, if his flinch and crunched up features were anything to go by. “A nepenthe for my pain, then?”

“Always such theatrics.” Harry grumbled, but there was an unmistakable note of fondness in his voice. He leaned down, closing the few inches of distance between them, and imparted a kiss on him. The other tried to deepen it unsuccessfully, in too much pain to lift his arms, only to whine when Harry pulled back. “Control your libido for long enough to heal, Tom.”

“Fine. But you have better believe that we’ll be playing catch up later.” He warned. “You do realize that, Precious?”

“I’d expect nothing else from you.” Harry lay Tom gently back on the floor, carding a hand through the dark brunet’s hair and making it as wild as his own usually was. Snickering softly at the expression of disapproval which flashed momentarily across his face. “We do have each other’s number, after all.”

“We do indeed.” A few moments of silence passed in which Tom made no effort to get up, fidgeting and then hissing in pain when the action jolted his burn. “…I can’t stand up.” He refused to look over at Dumbledore as he admitted this. “I’m going to need…help getting to the Hospital Wing.”

“The pain must be considerable indeed for it to drive you to request aid.” The Headmaster noted playfully as he summoned a stretcher underneath the dark brunet and levitated it off the ground. “We’ll get you to Madam Pomfrey right away, though I’m sure she won’t be pleased by the hour.”

“At least this time we won’t be adding a notch to Harry’s ‘injury belt’.”

“If you would please come with us, Ms. Weasley? I think Harry still has words for you which may best be said at a time where it’s most unlikely they’ll be heard, not to mention that you’d best return what you’ve taken. From both of them.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“I will also be assigning you a detention for stealing, being out without reason after curfew, damaging school property and attacking another student.”

Ginny hung her head, ginger hair falling in a curtain in front of her face. “Yes, Headmaster.”

Harry made a point to put himself protectively between Tom, whose silent request for his hand was granted, and Ginny as they made their way back to the Hospital Wing.

“Wait here, if you wouldn’t mind. Harry will be out to speak with you in a moment.”

The raven took up a post beside the bed in which Tom was deposited as the Headmaster went to retrieve the Mediwitch. When Madam Pomfrey appeared, bustling over to them, her apron was slightly askew.

“Mr. Potter,” she said on catching sight of him sitting beside Tom, “this is only the second time I’ve seen you in my Hospital Wing as a visitor instead of an invalid. What happened to you, Mr. Gaunt?”

“Stray firework,” he groaned as his robes and destroyed shirt disappeared. “I didn’t expect it to act like a bloody boomerang and come back- _ah!”_

“You’ve fractured three ribs, but nothing is broken.” The Mediwitch pulled her hand back from his side and waved her wand, casting a Diagnostic Charm over him. When a small scroll popped into existence she unrolled it and looked it over. “The burn on your chest is mild, only barely classifiable as second degree, and though it will likely scar it won’t be too noticeable. You’ve also suffered a small concussion. With a few low doses of Skele-Gro, a medium strength burn-paste and a painkiller you’ll be back in the Gryffindor dorms in three days.”

“That’s good to hear.” Tom’s word reflected Harry’s sentiment exactly.

“I’ll go and get the first doses of all three for you now.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.” The Mediwitch left briefly and then returned with two bottles and a metal tin. The first of the bottles Harry recognized; he cringed slightly as the memory of the dreadful taste came back to him.

“Take this.” Madam Pomfrey pushed the smoking cup into his hand. Tom’s handsome features contorted at the flavor but he didn’t otherwise react and dutifully swallowed the full dose. “And this.” Next came the pain potion, which tasted better but still bad. “Mr. Potter.” She held out the tin towards him.

“O-Oh,” he took it from her and unscrewed the lid, revealing the white paste inside. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

“You’re going to be the one treating my burn, Precious?” the dark brunet smirked up at him; Harry could tell by the tenseness of the small muscles in his face that the potion he’d been given had only taken the edge off. “Try not to poke me too hard, it’s rather sensitive.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the taller male as he scraped some of the burn-paste out of its tin. “Keep talking like that and I might be tempted.” Tom flinched when the cold paste come into contact with the red burn splashed diagonally across his chest, breath hitching slightly. “Sorry.”

“I’m alright.”

He was more mindful with the amount of pressure that he used when applying the paste from then on and kissed him again once it was over without having to be asked.

“You got burn lotion on my face, love.”

“You’ll live.”

“Yeah, I will.” The smirk became a crooked smile. “For you.”

“That sounds like your concussion is talking.” Harry said, coloring slightly yet again despite his continued simmering anger.

“Because I _must_ be debilitated in order to be sweet without the endgame of sex? Seems as if a new challenge has been laid at my feet.” Tom raised his arm and playfully pinched his arse, making the raven yelp and drop the tin onto the sheets. “Once you’ve spoken with Ronald’s demonic sister, let her know that I’d like to speak with her too would you?”

“Tom-.”

“I think I’ll be perfectly safe from further harm by her with both you and the Headmaster here.” He said. “You talk like it’s my counterpart and not a 15-year-old girl who tried to blow me up with fireworks that is currently waiting out in that hallway.”

“You need rest, not arguments Tom!”

“Then do what I’ve asked of you, Precious.”

Harry huffed but relented and looked over at Dumbledore with a silent question in his eyes. “Whether or not you wish to share that information is up to the two of you, and whom you share it with is at your discretion.”

“I think it’s safe to say that she knows already who I really am, Harry. We need to kill this now: the only way to put a permanent end to this debacle is to take the secrecy out of it once and for all.” He said. “I think we’ve left her out there in the hallway for long enough, now.”

“Yeah.” Harry stood up slowly and reluctantly let go of Tom’s hand. “Yeah, I think we have. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Ginny looked up at him when he exited the doors of the Hospital Wing and scrambled to her feet from where she’d been sitting at the base of a pillar.

“Harry?”

He bit down on the words that wanted to come pouring out and swept passed her, crossing the corridor to the window. Bracing his hands against the stone sill, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass and struggled to reign in his temper.

“Harry-.”

“Haven’t I lost enough people who matter to me already, Ginerva?” he wasn’t yelling anymore, but if anything the icy lash in his voice was worse. “Haven’t I seen enough people die? My mother. My father. Cedric. Sirius. What would you have done if you had killed him? On top of everything that I’ve already had to go through in my life I don’t think I could handle losing Tom.” He narrowed his eyes at his reflection but didn’t turn to look at her. “And for what? Jealousy? Because I fell in love with someone else?”

“It has nothing to do with jealousy! I’m trying to protect you!”

“Protect me? Protect me from what?”

“From him! He’s hurting you!”

“It seems like I need to remind you of the fact that, while the diary may have dragged you down into the Chamber of Secrets during my Second year and your First _I’m_ the one who killed the Basilisk and _I’m_ the one who destroyed it!”

“Obviously you’re not as able to recognize similar Dark objects as you think you are if you really believe his name is-!”

“ _You think that I don’t know that Thomas Gaunt is an alias, Ginny?”_ He snarled, turning on her and causing her to flinch back as a result. Harry paused to drag his temper back into check before continuing to speak. “I wasn’t in Romania. I’ve never been to Eastern Europe. I’ve never even been outside of Britain.”

“Then where were you all of last semester?”

“At Hogwarts. I never left the Castle to go on the mission that Dumbledore assigned me. The question you should be asking me is _when_ was I all of last semester.” Harry turned his gaze back to the window. “1942. Dumbledore thought that Tom could help us defeat Voldemort so he sent me to retrieve him, but there was too much risk of a paradox if I were to go back in our own time, so he sent me into an alternate parallel timeline instead.”

“And you agreed to do it?” he didn’t bother to respond. The answer was already quite obvious. “Why?”

“Because he deserved the chance to be something other than a Dark Lord, Ginny!” He snapped. “And because Tom and I are two sides of the same coin. We always have been.”

“How can you say that, Harry? You’re _nothing_ like Tom Riddle!”

The raven laughed at her, then, but there was no trace of warmth or humor in the sound. It was something she’d have expected out of a Slytherin. Out of _him_. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, Ginny. None of you do. Never knowing your parents. Living in a world that you don’t belong to. Growing up in the home of Muggles who not only hate you but fear you as if you’re something evil just waiting to kill them in their sleep rather than a child. I’m lucky that I found friends like Ron and Hermoine once I came here, because if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have learned to have compassion for people. I’d have learned to _use_ people, just like Tom did. But he’s different now. I got to him in time.”

“How can you believe that? How can you be so sure that he feels the same way that you do? That giving him your heart hasn’t made you blind?”

“Interesting creatures, Boggarts. They have no definite shape. They live off of fear and the form they present to each specific person is determined by the perfect incarnation of that fear. What that person is most afraid of. And no matter how intelligent you are, no matter how powerful you are, no matter how good you are at lying to yourself tricking one isn’t possible.”

“Don’t change-.”

“ _I’m not changing the subject!”_ He bit out, silencing her instantly. “Mine, as I’m sure the entire school knows by this point, is a Dementor. Fear itself. Tom’s is Death. I’ve seen his Boggart twice, now. The first time, it showed him his own corpse. The second, it showed him mine.”

“His greatest fear is…losing you?”

“When it takes as much effort and pain to form real bonds with people as it does for those like him, their ability to love stunted by the fact that they were conceived under the effects of a love potion, it’s easy to become so obsessively attached that you build a universe around that person.” He said coldly. “No matter what you think of him, Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort are two separate people. _My boyfriend_ , regardless of his past and the lasting struggle he has against the Darkness he’s been messing with, is _not_ a monster!”

Harry pivoted abruptly so that he was facing her again and leaned back against the window sill, subconsciously copying the posture Tom often adopted whenever he was having a particularly difficult time keeping his head on straight. Some small, detached part of him lamented what it must be like to constantly live with a lake of boiling anger flowing just beneath his skin at all hours and made note of the need to make a greater effort to assist Tom in better assuaging his many roiling passions.

“I am _not_ pleased with your behavior, Ginny. _Beyond_ not pleased. But as much as I’d love nothing more than to Hex you silly, and regardless of the fact that my forgiveness for hurting him will be a long time coming I’m not going to allow that to affect things between us more than it absolutely has to.” It was difficult to say, but he managed to force it out through gritted teeth. “We are headed into war, and we cannot afford to present a divided front to the Death Eaters. So for the sake of unity I’m going to let this matter drop here.”

Her hazel eyes dropped to the tile floor, unable to meet his stern gaze and set jaw. “I understand.”

“Good.” Some of the frigidity had gone out of his voice. “Tom wants to speak with you before you had back to Gryffindor tower. After everything you’ve already done tonight, you shouldn’t keep him waiting too.”

Harry headed back into the Hospital Wing without another word. Cowed, Ginny followed him.

Tom was, unsurprisingly, still exactly where Harry had left him though now he was propped up against a tower of pillows and his clothing had been replaced with cotton sleepwear. Catching sight of the raven’s posture and picking up on his distress, he shifted over to one side of the cot and held out an arm towards him. Accepting the unspoken invitation, Harry crawled onto the cot and curled up beside him like a cat.

“Feel vindicated?” he simpered.

“Don’t think I’m not going to be watching you, Pratt!” she snapped back, earning a caustic glare from the raven.

Tom only smiled and began stroking the other’s hair. “You and about ten other witches and wizards whom are affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix, many of whom are Aurors of considerable skill. You don’t need to worry, doll, so long as no one is threatening Harry I’ll behave myself.” He said. “I’d appreciate my ring back, if that makes no difference to you. And I’m sure Harry would like the Marauder’s Map back as well; that is how you found me, yes?”

Ginny didn’t respond, but produced both objects from her robes and set them on the small bedside table.

“You wanted to ‘speak’ with me?”

“I did indeed, Ginerva. To extend the olive branch and bury the hatchet. Make peace.” Tom said. “Let’s be frank, you mean nothing to me and I will never be anything but a monster in your eyes due to the past actions of my counterpart but you and I both want, and will go to ridiculous lengths to achieve, the same thing. Harry safe.”

“What are you trying to say, Riddle?”

“Simple. I’m trying to say that I want to know that there is someone I can rely on to watch his back in the event that I am not able to. Be that because of travel, injury or-.”

“Don’t you dare bloody say it, Tom!” The raven hissed, prompting Tom to pull him closer gently.

“Be still, Precious.” He soothed, dark blue eyes not leaving hers. “Well? Can I trust you to be that person or not?”

Ginny stared him down for a moment before nodding curtly. “Yes. You can trust me to be ‘that person’.” She said. “But not for your sake.”

His smirk took on a dangerous curve. “Of course not. Now you should both probably be heading back to Gryffindor tower before ‘tonight’ becomes ‘tomorrow’.”

“Ginny, take the Map and use it to get back to the common room. I’ll get it from you tomorrow. If anyone asks, you can tell them where I am and why I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t be so standoffish, Precious. No one is going to _make_ you leave: even if they were of a mind to try they’d likely require a powerful Unsticking Charm and a couple of Muggle crowbars to even stand a chance.” Tom tucked Harry’s head under his chin as both watched Ginny exit the room, pulling the covers up over them both. “You’re wound as tight as a bow string, so I know you must be absolutely furious. You either have considerable ability to control your anger when you put your mind to it or you cast a Silencing Charm, since I didn’t hear you yelling.”

“You don’t always have to yell to get your point across.”

“And get your point across you did: she looked rather spooked when she came in.” He said with a soft chuckle as the lights around them dimmed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my experience tonight, it’s that I never want to find myself on the receiving end of your full anger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I feel like a delivered on the matter of the verbal smack down.  
> On another note, I received an interesting comment about what the theme song of their relationship in this fic should be so I'm posting the question of which you all think fits better  
> Mastubs Remix of I'd Love to Change the Word by Jetta (as pointed out by RoseRedMisery)  
> or  
> the Acoustic Version of Help Is On The Way by Sixx AM.


	41. The Hogsmeade Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back from vacation: as a thanks for your patience this chapter is considerably longer than usual.
> 
> Non-related vacation story because this author likes sea life more than sea life likes her: I now know what happens when you piss off baby Octopi by attempting to save them from drying out after they get washed up on the beach. Thankfully Briar Octopi are only minorly venomous and I regained the feeling in my hand after about an hour and I now have a scar to show my roommate.

Standing out in the courtyard waiting for Filch to run through each of their credentials in order to ensure that each and every one of them were, in fact, allowed to leave the Castle grounds and head into Hogs-meade Village, Harry stared sourly at the cobbled ground. Ron and Hermoine both stood beside him, the bushy brunet intermittently patting his shoulder-provoking him to shake her off-and the red head looking absurdly and unreasonably guilty on account of his sister’s actions.

He’d only stopped apologizing after Harry had threatened to magically silence him for the duration of the day, having already had enough of such behavior from Neville who had admitted, along with Luna, to being her partner in crime. Without Tom around, Snape had returned to his usual bullying behavior-this time with a pointed vengeance-inflaming his temper further though Malfoy made no effort to move in which, in and of itself, screamed suspicious.

Madam Pomfrey had given up on attempting to get him to vacate the Hospital Wing at the end of visiting hours, allowing the raven to sleep curled up against the dark brunet in peace.

“It’s going to be alright, Harry.” Hermoine assured him as they shuffled forward in line. “Sure, the burn turned out to be a little more serious than expected but he’ll be out of the Hospital Wing soon.” When Harry didn’t respond, she immediately continued, “I know that you wanted to spend time with him on the last Hogs-meade weekend, but it’ll be alright. There will be more next year,” he doubted he’d have the time to attend them while at the same time hunting down Horcruxes, “and I’m sure you’ll be able to spend time together over the summer,” while at the Dursleys? Doubtful. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Harry would have responded to her, but before he could his glasses vanished and his vision went dark. After a single moment of jolting panic he heard dark laughter in his ear.

“Guess who.” At the singsong purr he instantly relaxed.

“Tom.” The hand over his face disappeared and he turned to face the taller male. The dark brunet had snuck up behind them and slotted himself fluidly into line directly behind them; through his badly blurred vision he could make out his glasses held in one large, long fingered hand. “Can I have my glasses back, please?”

“Of course, Precious.” He placed the glasses back on his face; Harry’s vision snapped back into focus, revealing the playful dark blue eyes and curved smile in sharp detail. “Clearly, you missed me.”

“You’re one to talk, Tom: if our roles were reversed you’d have burned down the school by now!”

“But that’s me, darling.”

“What are you doing out here, Tom?” Hermoine asked him somewhat sternly as they reached the Caretaker. “I thought you were still supposed to be in the Hospital Wing for another few days.”

“Well, technically I’m out A.M.A but I wasn’t about to miss this: after all, there’s something regarding the owner of the Three Broomsticks which Harry and I direly need to investigate.” Pulling him back against his chest, Tom nuzzled his black hair. “Not to mention that it’ll be nice to finally spend some time with my boyfriend in peace.”

Taking Harry’s hand once they’d made it passed the Caretaker, he looked over at Ron. “So, what have I missed?”

“A fair bit, mate.”

“Marvelous: we’ve a conversation topic for our walk, then.” The raven was all too happy to nestle into his side when Tom pulled him under his arm. “Fill me in, one of you. Please.”

“Well,” Hermoine said with a bit too much false cheer, “I think that you can both finally rest assured that Ginny won’t be interfering with your relationship any longer. After I heard about what happened I made sure to search her things and confiscated any remaining joke supplies. She still had something called a ‘Demon Box’: you won’t have to worry about it being used against you.”

“The entire House thinks she’s lost her mind: Neville told the three of us that she was convinced that you were You-Know-Who. Like what happened with the Diary: you heard the story about that bloody thing, right?”

“I did.” Tom said, inclining his head. “And I suppose I can understand her reasoning. We are of the same blood, Voldemort and I, so it’s believable-to a point-that we could have enough of a resemblance between us to trigger memories and fears of that past trauma…at least, before he turned himself into what a Muggle would likely refer to as a Lizard Man.”

Ron and Harry both joked on laughter.

“I’m not upset with her: I’m more than capable of anger and holding grudges but I look at the motivation behind it as something to be praised rather than discouraged.”

“Jealousy?” Hermoine sounded shocked. “How can you possibly see any redeeming quality in such a selfish motivation?”

“Forgive me, Ms. Granger, but for all of your intelligence you’re not quite as adept at picking up on such things as I am.” He said calmly. “You-and, to be completely fair, most _normal_ people-see emotions to be the thing that make those around them tick. I am, due to my circumstances, classifiable as at the very least mildly sociopathic. I don’t understand emotions in the way that others do. So my view of the world is largely based on motivation. Action, consequence, reward. Merlin, before Harry taught me better I thought that Love was a trite romanticized veneer for the desires for sex, companionship and protection.”

Hogs-meade was in sight on the horizon.

“Which brings be back to my point. Jealously was, admittedly, a motivator for her behavior but it was all but insignificant and barely registered. Her _real_ motivation was to protect Harry. Had I been in her place, I’d have done much worse than attempting to blow the person to smithereens with a firework.”

“Believe me, Tom, of that much we’re _well_ aware.”

“Still so surly, Precious.”

“Well, at least now I’m not the only member of the family that’s received a Howler in the morning post.” Ron actually sounded rather gleeful. “Mum and Dad were both _furious_ with her! Retracted her Hogs-meade privileges, so you don’t have to worry about running into her. You got that letter from Fred and George right?”

“I did indeed: remind me to write back to them later today. They needn’t have apologized for what happened as it’s impossible for a seller to have liability for how their customers make use of their products.”

“You’re being admirably adult about this.” Hermoine noted as they reached the gates. “Most people our age, most people in general, would have retaliated somehow.”

“Precious already went off on her, so I think punishment has been properly dulled out.” Tom told her with a small smile. “What do the two of you say to meeting up with us at the Three Broomsticks for the last hour? There’s something going on which I’m sure the two of you would be interested in hearing about, and Harry and I need to poke around in there anyway.”

“Poke around in there for what?”

“Later, Hermione. There’s too much of a chance that we’ll be overheard here and we don’t want to cause a panic.”

“Or tip of someone complicit.”

“Complicit?” Seeming to realize that she’d be getting no further information out of either of them, Hermione huffed and begrudgingly agreed “we’ll see the two of you in the Three Broomsticks, then.”

“You will indeed, Ms. Granger.” With a final nod to both of them, Tom carted Harry away. “The need to do a bit of sleuthing aside, we should most definitely take advantage of finally being presented with the chance to do something without interfering by either my Knights or your self-proclaimed Guardian Angel. You and I finally have the opportunity to just _be_ a couple. Why don’t we have a drink at Madam Puddyfoot’s and then stop by Honeydukes before heading to the Three Broomsticks?”

Catching sight of the look that the raven was giving him, Tom stopped and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m not sure that you should be out of the Hospital Wing yet, Tom. Your concussion must still be affecting you if you’re really suggesting that we go to that stupid teashop!”

“I see.” Tom said, chuckling lightly and stepping a bit closer to him. “Someone’s had a bit of a bad experience.”

“I’ve asked you not to use Legellimency on me you Pratt!”

“I didn’t need to, considering that you referred to Madam Puddyfoot’s as ‘that stupid teashop’.” The dark brunet reached out and gently traced the bow of his upper lip with the tip of an ungloved finger. “Give it another chance, Precious. I may be able to help you begin to view it in a…more positive light.”

If Tom’s presence could make the Slug Club parties bearable, then surely he could make sitting in a teashop which could just as easily have been the Toad’s office slightly less painful.

“Alright,” he allowed, begrudgingly, “but let’s make it quick, please.”

“Of course, darling.” Pleased with the other’s agreement, the dark brunet didn’t waste a moment in pulling him away. They walked, Tom happily trotting and Harry reluctantly trudging, down the main drag and onto a side street. He was becoming more and more nervous and fidgety the closer that they got to the black and pink stone storefront of Madam Puddyfoot’s teashop, and if it hadn’t been for Tom’s strong grip on him which Harry knew he had no hope of escaping from he probably would have dug in his heels and insisted that they go absolutely anywhere else instead. Of course, it _was_ Tom and since he doubted that he would start making jabs at him about Hermoine and then burst into tears regarding his refusal to talk about Cedric’s death he allowed himself-however begrudgingly-to be dragged through the door.

Walking into Madam Puddyfoot’s was like being swallowed by the world’s most gaudy tea cozy. Tacky ribbons hung from the ceiling and were strung up over the dusty windows and frills seemed to bleed from every surface, growing up over the countless tables like garish white mold.

At least this time there weren’t any cupids throwing confetti everywhere.

“Merlin, you were right.” Tom said, hesitating the instant that they were over the threshold. “This place is atrocious.”

Harry didn’t bother to respond.

“Well, let’s just get our drink and get the bloody hell out of here as soon as we can.” Catching his hand, the dark brunet proceeded bravely forwards into the den of pink depravity and sat him down at the furthest table from the door-the only one still open. “Unfathomable that this place could possibly be so popular.” He muttered, holding up his provided napkin between his forefinger and thumb as if in fear it carried some terminal disease. “I’m of half a mind to be concerned that if we sit here for too long the lace is going to eat us.”

That comment was enough to draw a small reluctant smile from Harry. “I’m of half a mind to agree with you.”

The owner of the teashop, Madam Puddyfoot herself, was a stout witch with shiny black hair which Harry had only ever seen her wear pinned up in a tight bun; she made her way through the cramped shop, winding her way between the tables over to them. “What can I get for you, my dears?”

“Coffee, please.” Tom said politely, smiling up at her as he reached across the table to pat Harry’s hand. “For both of us. But my boyfriend and I are in a bit of a hurry, so we’d appreciate it if you were able to get it out to us quickly.”

“Of course, doll. I’ll have that right out for both of you: that’ll be six Sickles.”

Tom kept the raven’s hand pinned down on the table with one hand and reached for the coin pouch in the pocket of his jeans to pull out the required amount. “Here you are.” After Madam Puddyfoot had walked away Tom released him and smirked. “I have money now, Precious. The least that you can do is allow me to spend it on you.”

“I have my own money, Tom!”

“I’m aware.” Tom told him calmly. “And you can pay for yourself whenever we’re not together, but when we are then I’ll pay for you.”

“We’re _always_ together.”

“Your point?”

“My point, Tom, is that since we’re _always_ together you’re _always_ going to be paying.”

“Is it not tradition for the man in the relationship to pay?”

“I-.” Harry’s green eyes widened, then narrowed; Tom hissed when the raven’s foot made contact with his shin. “That isn’t funny you sot!”

“Sorry, darling. I couldn’t resist.”

“Uh-huh.”

The dark brunet offered him an angelic smile but Harry ignored him obstinately until their coffee arrived. Harry held his drink, gazing at his boyfriend through the silvered curtain of steam which rose from his cup as Tom took a sip of his drink.

“You take your coffee black?”

“Putting milk and sugar in it doesn’t make it taste better, so I don’t bother.” Tom replied, setting his cup down on its saucer with a soft clink as Harry looked down at his pale brown coffee as if he’d done something wrong. The dark brunet chuckled at his reaction. “To each their own, Precious, though I doubt the merits of how coffee is best consumed was why you were staring at me. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was meant to be a joke. I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Harry made a point of aligning his spoon exactly with the edge of the unreasonably lacy napkin which had been set out at his seat. “It’s just…I’ve never seen you dress so…so…that.”

 _Merlin, could he make it any more difficult to understand what he means?_ The dark brunet smirked at him. “I assume that what you mean to say is ‘I’ve never seen you dress so Modern’?”

The raven nodded, quickly taking a drink from his china cup.

“I figured that I might try fitting in a bit more by updating my wardrobe.” He said. “I still think that I look devilishly handsome. Have I assumed so incorrectly?”

“Yes! I-I mean, no you haven’t assumed incorrectly.” He could feel the blush creeping up on him. “Of course I think that you look good in everything.”

“But best in nothing?”

Harry clamed up, but nodded at him. Tom’s smirk stretched into a full smile and he moved his chair closer to him, putting one hand innocently on Harry’s knee and causing the faint pink to darken into burgundy as it began to move upwards.

“I think that you look best in nothing, too. Though I’m sure that I’ve said that much before.” Much to the raven’s relief, the taller boy quickly ceased caressing his thigh and sat back in his chair. “Of course, we’re in public at the moment and I’ve already taken up your little challenge. So, with the end game of proving I can be sweet while still thinking with my proper head, I’m going to suggest you put that coffee down before you drop it. I’ll run out of that burn cream otherwise.”

Confused, Harry set his cup down on its saucer, but before he could open his mouth to speak Tom had descended on him. Now Harry understood why the other boy had wanted to take him to this particular teashop of all places; Madam Puddyfoot’s was a place where snogging was expected and not engaging in such behavior would get you started at.

He could taste the bitter Arabica that he’d been drinking as he sucked on his tongue, Tom’s hands holding his face as one of Harry’s anchored itself in the curling hairs on the nape of his neck and the other gripping onto one of the dark brunet’s broad shoulders. The taller boy held him, all but pulling him out of his chair and onto his lap. Strong arms pressing their chests together and large hands roving down the contours of his back, mercifully stopping just above the waist line of his jeans.

“I love you.” Tom nipped at his bottom lip, drawing blood and making Harry hiss softly. “I love you,” he licked away the beads of scarlet which had formed across the soft pink skin. “I love you.” He rose from the chair suddenly, nearly causing the raven to fall against him. “Now, we should definitely be leaving for Honeydukes if we want to make it to the Three Broomsticks on time.”

“Right,” he said dazedly, shaking his head in an effort to clear the warm fog from his mind, “we have to meet up with Ron and Hermoine for the last hour of the daytrip.”

The pair exited the teashop at last, much to Harry’s relief, and stepped back outside into the cool air of early spring. The nip in the air assisted him in clearing his head; Tom took his hand and began to pull him back onto the main road.

Honeydukes hadn’t changed at all since the last time he had seen it, and in the wake of all of the shops which had disappeared since the break out of the Second Wizarding War-Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Olivanders, Zonko’s-Harry couldn’t help but be reassured by the fact. The warm air smelled of sugar and chocolate, melting away many of his worries and making him suddenly feel as if he’d aged backwards a handful of years. The legendary sweets shop was as crowded as always, students of all ages and from every House stuffed the aisles between the shelves upon shelves of the most delicious sweets imaginable.

Nougat, Pink Coconut Ice, handmade Toffee, countless different types of Chocolates. Barrels stood scattered about the store seemingly at random, filled with Every Flavor Beans, Fizzing Whizzbees, and Levitating Sherbert Balls. Against the far wall were all of the special effects sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum which created bluebell colored bubbles that lasted for days, splintery Tooth flossing String Mints which in Harry’s opinion sounded rather painful, Black Pepper Imps-a different variety than provided on the Express, allowing the consumer to breathe fire like a Dragon for up to an hour-and Ice Mice which when eaten caused your teeth to chatter and squeak.

Harry paused to examine a stand of delicate spun sugar quills in every eye catching color imaginable and when he looked up again Tom had disappeared. After wandering around for a while, squeezing between a group of First years watching the creation of a fresh batch of Treacle Fudge and an older man perusing their selection of Exploding Bonbons he finally managed to relocate his boyfriend going through the different flavors of lollipops on offer. Three recognizable vibrant green lollipops were already held in his hand as he rummaged through the bucket dedicated to various red flavors.

“You like Acid Pops?”

“I don’t like saccharine candies, Precious. I’ll eat mints, bitter chocolate and a few other things, Acid Pops included. Though they do require a bit of management: not exactly a study snack, unless you want to end up burning a hole in your face.” He said. “Ah, here’s one!”

The dark brunet triumphantly held up a deep crimson lollipop like a war trophy.

“Aren’t Blood Pops meant for Vampires, Tom?”

He shrugged. “Could be.” Tom replied flippantly. “But I’ve never tried one so I figured I may as well, and I’ve been told that I have a taste for blood-.”

“I doubt that whoever said that intended it to be taken literally.”

“I’m still going to buy one.” Tom said resolutely. “Aren’t you getting anything?”

“A few sugar quills and some of the chocolate up at the front of the store.”

“Fair enough. If you’re ready, shall we check out?”

“Sure.”

After a brief wait the pair made it to the front of the stone, ordered the raven’s chocolate, paid and set out back into the street.

They made it to the Three Broomsticks not long after Ron and Hermione, who waved them over to the table they’d taken.

“So, how was your date?”

Harry shoved a square of chocolate into his mouth to avoid answering, making all three of the other’s smirk. Tom unfurled his lengthy body and sat back in his chair.

“We had a good time. Had a cup of coffee at Madam Puddyfoot’s, did a bit of snogging and then stopped briefly by Honeydukes.” The dark brunet said. “But now we’re moving on to more serious matters.”

Madam Rosmerta appeared beside their table at precisely that moment; Harry’s head snapped up a bit too quickly but Tom regarded her with utter calm.

“What can I get for the four of you?”

“Butter Beer?” the other three all nodded. “Four bottles of Butter Beer, please.”

The owner quickly made behind the bar and returned a few moments later with the requested drinks, walking away again after having received her payment.

“None of you touch those until I’ve checked them.” Harry pushed his bottle over to the dark brunet without complaint. Ron hesitated, but did the same.

Leave it to Hermione to be the one to question things.

“Why?” she asked, clutching her bottle with just short of enough stubbornness to be annoying. “Surely you don’t think that the owner of the Three Broomsticks would attempt to poison us?”

“That’s exactly what we think, Hermione.” Harry hissed at her under his breath, gaze carefully kept on Rosmerta’s place behind the bar. “And we’ll explain why in a minute, just give him the bottle.”

“Unless you’d rather take the risk. Just bear in mind that I left my whole supply of Bezoars in my trunk.” Tom calmly slid the Blood Pop into his mouth. To Harry’s surprise he didn’t immediately recoil or spit it out but instead appeared almost disturbingly intrigued by the flavor. Hermione rolled her eyes at what she undoubtable deemed to be their uncalled for paranoia but passed him her bottle regardless. “Thank you kindly, Ms. Granger.”

The dark brunet drew his wand from his pocket and, taking care not to make his actions obvious, tapped each of the four bottles lightly with the tip.

“Venenum Revelare.”

All four bottles of Butter Beer remained inert; Tom nodded and replaced his wand in the pocket of his jacket.

“Alright. They’re safe.”

They each took their own bottles back. Harry and Ron both took a drink from their Butter Beers while Hermione launched back into her earlier line of questioning without batting an eye.

“ _Now_ will the two of you tell us what that was about?”

“Simple.” Tom said as he nursed his own drink. “The other night Harry and I were called down to Professor Slughorn’s office in order to gleen a bit of information which the Headmaster requested us to retrieve. After we managed to do so he offered us a drink-informing us that the mead was intended to be a gift for Dumbledore but didn’t make it to him in time for the holidays-which Harry and I both accepted in order to be polite. It is a lucky thing, however, that I am as paranoid as I am about what I consume because that bottle of mead in particular was heavily laced with Cyanide.”

_“What?”_

Tom and Harry both hissed and Ron jumped at her raised voice.

“Merlin Hermione, keep it down!”

The bushy brunet blushed, realizing her mistake. “Oh. Sorry.” She apologized hastily. “The mead was poisoned? You’re sure?”

“I could smell it, Ms. Granger. And it was later confirmed when we brought the bottle to the Headmaster.” The dark brunet eyed Rosmerta as she bustled about her business serving other customers and cleaning up behind the bar. “Who, need I remind you, said bottle was originally intended for.”

“You think that someone is trying to kill Dumbledore?” Ron declared, wide eyed.

“You have evidence for this?” Hermione demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s a bit too much to be merely a coincidence, Hermione. Slughorn admitted that he mentioned to Rosmerta that the bottle was intended as a gift to Dumbledore; I doubt that the entire batch was contaminated, just considering how much poison was in it, and it’s equally unlikely that it was intercepted while being imported.”

“But we don’t think Rosmerta was the one directly responsible.” Tom said, setting his half-finished drink back down. “Though whether or not she’s accomplice is still up in the air.”

“It has to be Malfoy.”

“ ** _Ronald!”_**

“Oh, come off it Hermione! Who _else_ could it be?”

“We thought that it was Malfoy as well. At least, I did: Tom is still on the fence about certain aspects, but he agrees that it’s a likely possibility.” The bottle clunked heavily as it was set back down on the table. “Despite having been told not to look further into the matter, getting to the bottom of things is why we’re here. Prognosis?”

“I can’t tell merely by looking at her if she’s been under the Imperious Curse before if she isn’t at the moment and we can’t afford to break subtlety by having me rip through her mind in search of information. What I _can_ say with certainty is that she’s not currently under the influence of it now.” With his Butter Beer empty, he stood up. “I’m going to the loo.”

The underlying message of ‘I’m going to take a look around’ was loud and clear.

Harry met his dark gaze. “Don’t fall in.”

He knew that Tom registered his own underlying message when the older boy smirked at him before walking away.

The dark brunet wove his way between the many crowded tables which filled the tavern and pushed open the bathroom door. After checking to make sure that he was, in fact, alone Tom slipped into the nearest stall and quickly shifted. Soft paws hitting the cold wooden floor as he slid under the opening at the bottom of the door.

Nosing open the bath room door with considerable difficulty due to its weight, Tom slipped into the hallway and quickly crept into the shadows. Making his way back down the hall and out into the main tavern.

Rosmerta, with two mugs of hot Butter Beer in each hand, bustled out from behind the bar at the same moment that a familiar too-loud greeting drew his attention back to the table where the trio was still sitting to find Hagrid had walked over to them. When Harry looked up to greet his half giant friend his green eyes fell on Tom and widened in surprise before quickly narrowing.

Tom’s ears lay back and his tail curled between his legs on reflex. He was already well aware that the impending conversation between them would not be fun. He quickly darted behind the bar and into the back room.

He was greeted by the sight of towering stacks of boxes, all of which were filled with dusty bottles of various shapes and sizes. Butter Beer. Fire Whiskey. A handful of different meads. Sparkling and still wine of both Muggle and Magical Varieties. His nose twitched as the mingled scents assaulted him, the amount of dust clogging the room nearly enough to send him into a fit of sneezing.

Slinking around a trio of broomsticks which had been propped against the wall, Tom struggled to sift through the hot dry air in search of the bitter tang of almond. Examining his surroundings for any signs of tampering. When the door creaked open he hurriedly leapt into the nearest partly empty box, settling his body between the bottles inside and keeping as quiet as possible while Rosmerta retrieved another bottle of Fire Whiskey. After she’d left again he wasted no time in cutting out, slipping around the far corner of the bar before shifting back.

Standing up, he straightened his clothes and made to return to the table where Harry and the others were sitting when a voice from beside him piped up with a rather nervous “Hi, Tom.”

He looked down and found a blushing witch from his year whose name he couldn’t readily recall looking back at him. Beside her, clutching a butcher wrapped package and looking down at her hands, was Katie Bell.

He smiled out of reflex. “Hello. I’m afraid that I don’t recall your name.”

“O-Oh, I’m,” her blush deepened, “I’m Leanne.”

“Well hello, Leanne.” His gaze shifted to Katie. “Hello, Katie.” When she pulled the package protectively closer and cast a brief glance up at him, his brow furrowed. “Ms. Bell, are you alright?”

She was on her feet so quickly that the chair she’d been sitting in nearly toppled over; Tom barely managed to catch it. “Come on, Leanne. We should go.”

“Ms. Bell.”

“I’m fine!” With that said and leaving her friend with no choice but to follow her she darted out of the Three Broomsticks.

Tom was across the tavern in seconds, his hand descending on Harry’s shoulder with enough force to make him jump in surprise.

“Tom-!”

“It’s Bell.”

“What?”

“Katie Bell, Harry. Rosmerta may have been under the Imperious Curse before, but Bell’s the one under its sway now and she has a package with her.” He hissed. “She’s headed back to the school with it: whatever it is it can’t be good and I’m all but certain that it’s meant for Dumbledore!”

The raven was on his feet seconds later and headed towards the door, Ron and Hermione on his heels and leaving Hagrid standing confused beside the table. “We need to get that package!”

“My thoughts exactly, Precious.” They hit the street outside running, catching up within a reasonable distance of the pair; at this point Tom grabbed both Harry and Ron by the back of their robes and forced them to slow their pace. Hermione, seeing this, slowed as well. “Not here, in the middle of the Village. Confronting them could cause a panic, not to mention give away the fact that we’re aware of what’s happened. We’ll move in once we’ve gotten a ways up the path.”

“He’s right.” Hermione piped up as they continued to trail the two girls. “We can’t afford to cause chaos. If the responsible party is still around it would spook them and they might then go underground; we’d never figure out what they’re up to then.”

Though both the raven and the red head reluctantly fell into step with them neither looked happy, and each became increasingly antsy the closer that they got to the girls.

“Alright.” Tom said after what seemed like an eternity to Harry. “We’re far enough away now. Let’s go.”

Pulling their wands, both the raven and the dark brunet bolted forward without giving the other two a chance to process Tom’s words. They closed in on the pair of girls quickly, gaze set on the package in her hand.

“ ** _Katie, stop!_** ”

She whirled around at Harry’s shout and raised her wand, but neither gave her a chance to cast a spell.

“Expelliarmus!”

“Incarcerus!”

Leanne shrieked in surprise as her friend hit the ground, the package skidding across the path. Ron, catching up to them with Hermione at his heels, went to pick it up but recoiled when Tom nailed him with a Stinging Hex.

“Don’t touch that! We don’t know what it is!”

“Tom, check her.” The taller boy was already on his knees beside her even as Harry spoke.

“W-What’s going on?” Leanne sniffled, staring at them with wide eyes and prompting Hermione to make an effort at comforting her.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, really everything is going to be fine.”

“Hurry, mate. There are people coming this way.

“Tom!”

“I was right: all of the signs are there. She’s definitely under the Imperius Curse.”

Leanne let out a loud wail and collapsed into the arms of a very surprised Hermione; Ron quickly went to her aid but Harry ignored the side proceedings in favor of keeping his gaze on the larger male.

“Is there anything that you can do?”

“It’s possible for one to break the Imperious Curse on themselves, provided that they have the will, but there’s no Counter Curse for it and I doubt that even I would be able to invent one.” Tom sat back on his haunches and cocked his head, dark fringe falling into even darker eyes. “The safest option would simply be to wait until whoever is responsible releases her on their own.”

“The safest option?” the raven repeated. “So there is something else that we can do?”

He nodded without looking up at him. “There is. I could attempt to wrest control from whomever first cast it, and provided they’re weaker than I am I should be able to succeed, and then release her myself but doing so risks her mental health.”

“Do it.” The dark brunet looked up in surprise at the abruptness of his decision. “It’s the quickest solution, like you said, and people are coming. It wouldn’t be good if we wind up having to explain away a report about the four of us attacking a member of our own House.”

“That would most certainly be problematic.” He agreed, pointing the Hornbeam wand and casting a firm “Imperio,” only to release the spell immediately after it had taken effect. Clearly confused, Katie looked around at them blearily as he vanished the restraints. “Welcome back, Ms. Bell. I fear that Harry and I may have been a bit rough with you; gave your friend here quite the scare.”

“Are you feeling alright?” the raven added from his position at Tom’s shoulder as the taller boy helped her to her feet.

“Me? I’m fine. Leanne?” seeming to notice for the first time where they were as he handed back her wand, she turned her eyes onto her friend. “What happened?”

“Someone put you under the Imperious Curse in order to get you to deliver that package to someone in the Castle.” Harry told her flatly, indicating the package which Tom was now gingerly poking with the tip of his wand as if it were the bloated corpse of a dead animal. “Do you remember who gave it to you?”

“I…no. I don’t recognize that package at all.”

“Well, what’s the last thing that you remember?”

“Getting up from our table at the Three Broomsticks to head to the bathroom.”

“Nothing after that?” he could hear the agitation beginning to bleed into his own voice.

She shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“Come on, Katie!”

“Precious!” The urgency in Tom’s voice was enough to make him instantly drop the line of questioning and turn. The dark brunet had succeeded in prodding the package apart and now stood with the contents-an antique necklace of silver and opals-dangling rather haphazardly from his wand. “ _There are a number of powerful Dark Curses on this necklace. It’s already killed five-.”_

“ _Nine people.”_ Harry corrected him. “ _It’s killed nine people by this point in time. We both remember that necklace and likely from the same place. But I also remember who showed a great deal of interest in it, and coincidentally returned to Borgin and Burke’s just this past summer. Malfoy must have bought it then.”_

_“Regardless of when he fought it or even if he bought it at all-he could have stolen it, after all-we can be all but certain that Malfoy was indeed responsible for, at the very least, **this** attempt on the Headmaster’s life. If that was what this was. Either way, I recognize his work with the Curse.”_

_“But nothing we can use against him that wouldn’t come off as an attempt by a spiteful childhood rival and their boyfriend to discredit him?”_

_“Sadly, no.”_ Tom informed him. “ _But we shouldn’t discuss such matters here.”_ For the benefit of the other two, as well as Katie and her still distraught friend, who up until now had heard nothing but a slew of rapid fire hissing, he reverted back to English. “We’re lucky there weren’t any rips in the package or arguments that might have resulted in it tearing; even the barest touch could prove to be a one way trip to the nearest cemetery.”

Pulling off his jacket without further delay, he swiftly wrapped the necklace up in the cloth.

“We should take this to the proper authorities.”

With mutual nods of agreement, all six of them began the walk back to the Castle.

“Look,” Hermione hastily pointed towards the stone steps which led up to the front entrance. “There’s McGonagall. We should tell her.”

“Professor!”

If McGonagall was surprised to have all six of them stampede across the courtyard towards her she did a marvelous job of hiding it. “Mr. Potter. Thomas.” Her attention was drawn to the bundled jacket in the dark brunet’s hands before she could finish addressing each of them. “What is that?”

“Trouble.” Tom replied starkly. “A lot of it. We need to speak with you in private. Preferably in your office. Preferably immediately.”

Her gaze roved briefly across each of their faces, taking note of Tom’s darting eyes, Harry’s flinty expression and the mixed reactions of confusion and fear displayed by the other four before nodding and sweeping them ahead of her.

“Quickly. Before that insufferable cat sees any of you: whoever decided to turn Filch loose with a Secrecy Sensor ought to be immediately sacked!”

Despite the slowly warming temperatures outside many of the more commonly inhabited rooms had fires crackling in their hearths and McGonagall’s office was no exception. “Sit.” She ordered after summoning the necessary amount of chairs and shutting the door securely behind them.

They did as they were told, Tom taking the middle seat closest to the desk and cautiously unwrapping the necklace inside. “There are a number of nasty things on this otherwise beautiful adornment; I’m told that some years ago this very same necklace was spotted by Harry in Knockturn Alley’s most prolific peddler of Dark Objects, though what he was doing in there in the first place I’ve no idea.”

“Accident with the Floo Network.”

“I see.” He returned his attention to explaining the situation at hand. “But I’m sure you’re wondering how it is that a visit to the perfectly safe community of Hogs-meade Village could lead to us returning with paraphernalia from Borgin and Burke’s. It all started out rather innocently, though I did have to break myself out of the Hospital Wing in order to meet up with them. After that we went on a nice date, though I doubt you either want or need the details of that, and then met up with the remaining half of our now Golden Quartet at the Three Broomsticks to have a drink. I was returning from the loo when Leanne,”

He gestured off handedly to the still evidently disquieted Leanne.

“Caught my attention, causing me to not only notice the package that Ms. Bell-who was sitting with her-was carrying but also recognize the signs of the use of the Imperious Curse. After alerting the others we chased them down and, after seeing to the situation, discovered the contents of the sadly unmarked package to be _that_.”

Tom pointed rather sharply at the necklace, looking at it as if its mere existence had personally insulted him.

“Upon realizing the seriousness of the situation we came immediately to you, figuring that you were better equipped to handle the matter than any of us would be.”

“I see.” She looked down at the Cursed necklace with a look of distaste. “I’ll have it sent to Severus immediately; with any luck we’ll be able to track down who sent it and see to it that they are properly dealt with.”

The raven and the dark brunet exchanged a doubtful glance but said nothing on the matter.

“All of you may go, though I would suggest that one of you see Ms. Bell to the Hospital Wing for further evaluation.”

“I’ll take her.” Leanne said.

“Ron and I will go with you,” Hermione stood up so quickly that she nearly toppled backwards over the chair that she’d been sitting in, having picked up on the sidelong glares the raven had begun to throw at Tom.

“We will?” when the brunet yanked him to his feet with a sharp look he quickly amended “oh, y-yeah! We will!”

Realizing he’d be left to weather the coming storm alone if something wasn’t done, Tom visibly cringed before hastily attempting to follow them out only to be held fast.

“Nice try, Riddle, but you’re not getting away that easily.”

It didn’t escape Tom’s notice that McGonagall seemed almost vindictively amused as he was dragged out of her office by the considerably smaller male. He didn’t say another word to him until they’d made it down the slide into the Chamber of Secrets.

“I believe,” he hissed, arms crossed, “that you have some explaining to do.”

“I,” Tom’s eyes darted reflexively around for an escape route all while knowing that he wouldn’t find one: even if he had, all fleeing would prompt Harry to do would be to chase him down and probably Hex him, “don’t know what you’re talking about, Precious.”

“So you’re going to tell me that the black fox with blue eyes I saw earlier today _wasn’t_ you?”

“I…well…no. I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t me. But I’m not going to say it _was_ me either.”

“How long?”

“… …” Tom offered him a non-committal shrug. “Recently?”

“I _cannot_ believe you!”

“I was going to tell you…eventually. It just never came up in our line of conversation-.”

“Your not having told me isn’t the problem!”

“It’s not as if I had the choice of-.”

“That you didn’t go about it legally isn’t the problem, either! Or have you forgotten that both my father and godfather were unregistered? The problem is that you _stole_ in order to do it; I thought you were over this behavior!”

“I…” the dark brunet dropped his gaze and when he spoke again his tone was genuine. “I’m sorry. Really, Precious, I am. I’m sorry not because I stole but because I’ve disappointed you and I truly do hate knowing that. But I would do it again without a second thought regardless because I believe that being an Animagus will better help me to keep you alive.”

In the face of the dark blue eyes pleading at him through long lashes and with a long suffering sigh Harry relaxed his posture. “Don’t think that you’re always going to be able to get me to forgive your bad behavior merely by starting in on overtures of your undying love for me.”

Raising his head Tom smiled at him. “But my love for you _is_ undying.”

The raven rolled his eyes as the other’s grin grew bigger. “So is your ability to lay it on thick! Merlin!” Harry shook his head. “It’s a lucky thing that I love you, too.”

“Do you?” the shorter male melted into him when Tom pulled him closer, holding him like he never wanted to let go.

“I do.” He answered softly. “You know that.”

“Can you say it again, please?”

Another sigh, but he felt the smaller raven’s smile pressing into the side of his neck. “I love you, Tom Riddle, for who you are not what you can do. Or what you can do for me.”

“Expecto Patronum.”

Silver light filled the month of the passageway, emitting from the sleek fur of the fox now crouching at their feet. Still standing in his partner’s arms, Harry stared at it in surprise.

“A Patronus. You’ve managed to cast a full bodied…but surely my saying that can’t have made a difference. I’ve told you that I love you before.”

“You have,” Tom said, finally releasing him and stepping back, “and no, that wasn’t the memory I used. But it was still nice to hear.” Catching the barely contained curiosity in Harry’s eyes he grinned again. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“There’s not much to tell, really, because I don’t actually use a memory. To cast the Charm…I imagine what it might be like sitting at a table with my parents and just…talking. I guess I’m just lucky that it works.”

“Mine is the memory of what happened between us on Christmas Eve.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed or amused by that revelation. “Of course your ‘happiest memory’ was when you finally achieved the ‘great conquest’ of bedding me.”

“Even I’m not _that_ base, darling.” Tom replied with a snort. “I’m talking about what happened before we went to the Leaky Cauldron.”

He stared at him for a moment in honest surprise. “You mean…at Wool?”

The dark brunet nodded. “It was a truly terrifying moment, sure, but it was also truly happy. Terrifying because it was the first time that I ever opened myself up, took off my mask and bared my soul to another person. Happy because, for the first time, I was accepted-wholly and completely-for who I really am.” Another flick of his wand dismissed the glittering silver animal. “Now, since we’re down here, how about we get to work on building you those Occlumancy barriers. Provided you can hold yourself back from another swimming trip, that is.”


	42. The Vanishing Cabinet

The last few months of school had passed in a blur of studying, attending the occasional ‘private lesson’ with Dumbledore and sneaking off for a bit of time alone together whenever they could manage to cram it in while not preparing for their second round of standardized testing. Now, finally, their N.E.W.Ts were over and their sixth year at Hogwarts was drawing to a close.

Exhausted and relieved that they wouldn’t be obligated to so much as come within ten feet of an academic text for the next few months-though he doubted that would stop either Tom or Hermione for much longer than a week-the Golden Quartet were all too happy to vegetate in front of the fire in the dimly lit Gryffindor common room for the time being. Harry sat in Tom’s lap with his back pressed against his chest; the dark brunet, for his part, was propped against the couch and Nagini was draped over their tangled legs. Ron was lying on said couch and Hermione was curled up in a nearly arm chair.

All four of them were completely silent-aside from Ron’s occasional snores-Hermione radiating victorious smugness over the redhead’s breakup with Lavender Brown which had happened earlier in the week as she stroked Crookshanks, curled up and purring in her lap, in much the same way as Tom was stroking Harry’s hair. The raven watched the fire dancing in the hearth through half-lidded emerald eyes as Nagini’s warm smooth scales slid beneath his fingertips.

He jolted fully awake, startling Tom who had also been all but asleep, when the portrait hole opened to allow Neville to tumble into the room. Harry was about to settle down again when he realized that the other boy was coming towards them.

“Harry. Tom.” Both blinked up at him in a somewhat discombobulated manner. “Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office. He also told me that I should inform Tom that he shares his taste for Blood Pops.”

Pushing their bone-deep exhaustion aside, both Tom and Harry got to their feet.

“Thank you, Neville.” Harry said as Tom hoisted Nagini onto his shoulders. “We’ll go and see the Headmaster right away.”

 _“Hopefully this matter will not take too long.”_ Nagini said dryly as they made their way through the corridors of the school. “ _Both of you are physically and mentally exhausted and need to rest. Now is not the time for you to go running after a shard of darkness.”_

“ _If that’s why we’ve been called to the Headmaster’s office we can’t exactly say no, Nagini. As tired as we are, we can’t afford not to jump on the chance because it might not present itself again.”_

_“Don’t worry too much for us, my lovely. Both Precious and I have more than enough energy in reserve to be able to handle whatever my counterpart can think to throw at us. Not to mention that we’ll have Dumbledore with us as well.”_

Nagini hissed, her grip on Tom’s shoulders tightening while at the same time stretching herself to reach Harry. “ _I still don’t like this.”_

 _“Everything we’ll be fine: we’ll be back before the new dawn with a portion of Voldemort’s tattered soul in our possession.”_ Tom switched back to English as he focused on the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office. “Blood Pops!”

Harry shuddered lightly as the statue leapt aside to let them pass. “I’ll never understand how you can eat those things, Tom.”

“Have you ever tried one, Precious?”

“I don’t need to eat candy aimed at Vampires to be familiar with the taste of blood.”

“It tastes better when it isn’t yours.” With that rather morbid comment, Tom reached up and knocked smartly on the thick wooden door.

“Come in.” Both stepped inside to find Dumbledore standing behind his desk with the Sword of Gryffindor resting in front of him. Fawkes was wide awake and watching them with alert eyes as Tom, having spied the Blood Pop filled candy dish, made a beeline across the room much to the amusement of the older wizard. “Finally found your sweet tooth, Tom?”

The dark brunet grunted instead of replying as he shoved the candy into his mouth; how he made even that movement appear graceful Harry had no idea.

“You called for us, Headmaster?”

The aged wizard nodded grimly. “I did indeed, Harry. I have, at last, located the cave which Tom mentioned and have confirmed that it does, indeed, contain one of Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Most likely the locket.”

“Well then, let’s go. The sooner that we can weaken my counterpart the better.”

“True as that may be, Tom, I’m afraid we cannot leave yet as I am not finished with my explanation.”

“What more is there to say?”

“I am afraid that we cannot afford to risk introducing unknown variables into the equation at this time.” Dumbledore informed them. “Until we known how contact with a Horcrux will affect you, I cannot allow you to accompany Harry and I on a hunt.”

Too dumbstruck to immediately react Harry simply stared at the Headmaster in surprise. Tom, however, recovered almost instantly and was very much _not_ pleased.

“ _No!”_ He snarled, teeth clenching and shattering the candy with a loud crack. “ _I am not going to allow you to force me onto the sidelines of this matter! I don’t care how **great** of a bloody wizard that you are or how many damned awards and titles that you have, I refuse to allow Precious to set foot in any situation which could even so much as be hinted at being dangerous unless **I** am there to protect him!”_

“Thomas-.”

“ _Don’t try and spin this some other way, Dumbledore, in order to make me agree to sit here on my arse because it’s not going to happen!”_

“Mr. Riddle-.”

“ _I refuse to stand by and allow him to go wandering off into some unknown situation without me from which he may not come back!”_

“Tom-!”

“ _You stay the bloody hell out of this, Precious!”_ Realizing that the dark brunet wasn’t going to stop screaming until he’d lost his voice completely if something wasn’t done Harry seized him by the hand and dragged him out into the staircase. “ _Harry-!”_

 ** _“Stop it, Tom, and listen to me!”_** Harry’s shout seemed to snap the taller male back to his senses, though his shoulders remained tense and tides of molten fury raged within his eyes. “It works out better for us anyway that you remain behind. _No, listen to me!_ Think about it, Tom; Malfoy has been trying to do something-regardless of whether his motive is to kill Dumbledore or not it’s undeniable that he’s doing _something_ -and what better night to make his move than the night that the Headmaster is away?” Pulling the spelled Galleon which he still carried with him out of habit from his pocket, he pressed it into Tom’s hand. “Take this; rally the D.A. and use them to watch over Hogwarts.”

“Precious-.”

“ ** _Please_** , Tom!”

Whether it was the tone of his voice or the open plea in his green eyes that broke him Harry wasn’t sure, but the dark brunet emitted a defeated sigh and covered the hand Harry had used to press the coin into his hand with his own. “I won’t fail you.”

The raven relaxed, relieved that there would be no more yelling. “Thank you, Tom.”

“Of course.”

“Good-.”

“ _Don’t say it!”_ He snarled, grip suddenly tightening until it bordered on painful. “Don’t you dare say ‘good bye’ to me because this **_isn’t_** goodbye! You’ll come back to me.”

“I will.” Harry attempted to return to the office but Tom wouldn’t let go.

“ _Say it!_ ” His eyes begged him to obey. “Please, Harry, say it to me.”

“I’ll come back.”

“You’ll come back.” Tom repeated, though this time it was more to himself than him. “I’ll see you in the morning, safe and sound. You’ll come back.”

“Worry about yourself, please. And about taking care of the others if something does happen; I’ll have the Headmaster with me but they won’t and they’ll need you.”

“I’ll take care of them, Harry. Focus on taking care of yourself.” With one final glance back at him Harry disappeared back into the Headmaster’s office. Without waiting for the door to fully close behind him, Tom rushed down the curving stairs and through the corridors to the Dungeons.

The moment that Professor Slughorn saw him he attempted to slam the door but Tom jammed his foot between it and the wall, wincing slightly in pain. “You’re the only one that I can turn to for help among the Staff as you already know what the Headmaster is after. I desperately need to speak with you. Please, let me in.”

The Potions Master regarded him cautiously for a moment further before stepping aside and allowing him into his office. Tom took advantage of the opening and rushed inside before Slughorn could think better of doing so.

“Tom…what is it that I can help you with?”

“Dumbledore has located a Horcrux and has taken Harry with him to retrieve it; I was forbidden from accompanying them until the reaction to my presence which a Horcrux might have has been properly determined. Before he left Harry assigned me the task of rallying Dumbledore’s Army-a faction of students which Harry personally trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts-to defend the school as, if whoever it is that is responsible for poisoning the mead you were going to give the Headmaster is going to make a move, it’s going to be tonight.” He told him. “I’m not here to ask you to fight if something does occur-though, as a teacher, I would hope that you would do so anyway-I’m simply here to ask you for a little bit of luck. If you have any left from the beginning of the year?”

“Felix Felicis?” Slughorn repeated almost disbelievingly before nodding and shuffling over towards the cabinet. “Yes. I do have most of it left. I myself do not use it, as I’m sure that you remember my saying?”

“I do.” Tom replied, watching the Potions Master pulled down a sizeable stoppered vial of the glittering golden potion. “Normally, after awarding the student responsible for brewing the best Draft of Living Death, I would sell the remainder of the Potion on the market. But with the political climate the way that it is, what with…you running around, if I were to attempt to do so I would run the risk of stirring up trouble with Rufus Scrimgeour’s Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects so I was forced to hold onto it.”

“I won’t use all of it. A few drops for each person, no more.” Though he didn’t know exactly how many people were in the D.A. to begin with, let alone how many of them would answer his call. Tom held out a hand. “May I please borrow that bottle, Professor?”

“I…yes. Yes, you may.” Slughorn visibly hesitated before handing it over. “Just be sure to be mindful of the dosage.”

“I will, sir. Thank you, Professor Slughorn.” Tom rushed out of the door and back into the corridors, shoving the bottle into his robes as he went.

 _“I know that you are concerned for your mate, Master, but you must trust Harry’s judgement and believe that the old one can keep him safe.”_ Nagini hissed from her perch. “ _Focus on the job that you’ve been given. Let yourself get lost in what you’re doing so that you do not worry pointlessly over him.”_

 _“I know, Nagini.”_ He told her, rounding a corner at high speed as he fiddled with the false Galleon that he’d been given to make the numbers display a meeting time in the next ten minutes. “ _I’m trying.”_

When he reached the corridor containing the Room of Requirement Tom walked passed it three times, simultaneously asking the room for the Head Quarters of Dumbledore’s Army and praying that the Room would be empty. Relief flooded over him when the door appeared and he quickly darted through it, barely acknowledging the book case full of texts on Defensive Magic and other Defense Against the Dark Arts paraphernalia. An added request from him caused a hearth-crackling fire included-to pop into being before him.

Taking up a post in front of the fireplace and folding his arm behind his back, Tom waited. Listening intently as the door of the Room of Requirement opened and closed. Not turning until the space was filled with restless whispers and he felt sure that enough time had been allotted to allow everyone who was going to come to make an appearance.

Dark blue eyes roved across the small sea of faces, some of which he only knew in passing. Ron and Hermione were both there, of course, as were Ginny and Neville and Luna. He recognized a few fellow Gryffindors-Dean Thomas, both Creevy brothers, Katie Bell and Seamus Finnigan-a few Ravenclaws-Cho Chang, though her presence notably caused a bit of a schism in the ranks, and Pavati’s twin sister Padma-and one Hufflepuff-Justin Finch-Fletchley. There were a number of other members present whom he didn’t recognize-most notably-a pinch faced blonde Hufflepuff boy with an upturned nose whom was glaring in a challenging way which rankled him-many of whom were looking around as if expecting that Harry would suddenly materialize suddenly from nowhere.

He was unsurprised to find Slytherin House unrepresented in its entirety.

“Tom?” Hermione finally spoke up after five full minutes of silence. “Where’s Harry? He did call this meeting, didn’t he?”

“No,” Tom told her, “I did, but it was on his orders that I did. Of late there has been someone in the Castle-we have a notable suspicion of whom but no proof of who they are beyond a reasonable doubt-who has been up to Pro-Death Eater activities and if they were to choose any night to make their move it would be tonight. Why?”

He began to pace, Nagini shifting her position on his shoulders in order to continue examining the gathered students.

“Because the Headmaster has left the Castle in search of an artifact which can be used to weaken Voldemort,” he ignored the range of startled reactions which went off at the mention of his counterpart’s name, “and he has taken Harry with him. So it has fallen to us, those undoubtedly loyal to the Light and trained by the Savior of the Wizarding World, to defend this most noble school in the event it should become compromised by the Darkness.”

“ ** _You_** weren’t trained by Potter.” The pinch-faced Hufflepuff drawled, attracting his dark gaze. “And why should we differ to you? For all we know he only put you in charge because you’re the one who’s buggering him.”

More tense whispers swept through the room, quite a few members of the gathered group made nervous by the sudden dangerous blankness of his face. Someone piped up “have you ever _been_ in class with him, mate?”

“Who, if I may ask, are you?” Tom’s tone was deceptively polite. Most in the area picked up on the sudden icy aura and withdrew but the offending Hufflepuff seemed to be particularly dense and remained precisely where he was.

“Zacharias Smith. An _actual_ member of ‘ Dumbledore’s Army’ who was _actually_ trained by the so called Chosen One. At least Potter can say that he’s faced You-Know-Who. What can you do?”

“What,” Tom repeated, tilting his head slightly to one side, “can I do?”

The black and yellow tie around his neck transformed into a snake which hissed loudly and flashed its fangs in his face. Zacharias let out a most unmanly shriek and flung the creature away from him and into the dark brunet’s hands.

Tom calmed the tie-turned-serpent with a soft hiss, watching the small snake cease its posturing and begin to wind itself around his fingers. “Wandless, wordless, astoundingly difficult spells many of which I myself am responsible for inventing. _That’s_ what I can do.” The tiny animal coiled itself around his thumb, tongue flicking out to taste the air. “What you are, Zacharias Smith, aside from what you’ve said, is a stereotypical Hufflepuff: even the barmy Hat admits that Badger House settles for ‘taking the rest’.”

When the furious blonde attempted to retort, Tom flicked his wrist and caused his lips to seal themselves shut.

“Now,” he returned his attention to the rest of them, “those of you who are prepared to attempt to weather the storm of my untested leadership gather round. Those of you who can’t, I suggest that you return to the common rooms of your respective Houses **_before_** I lose my temper.”

No one, even the plainly upset and still silenced Smith, made even so much as an effort to leave.

“Fair enough.” Tom pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes and pointed it resolutely at the tile floor. “Serpentsortia!” A black cobra burst from the tip of his wand in a twisting coil of muscle, turning back towards him as soon as it hit the ground. “Gemino!” The single serpent divided itself into five. Satisfied with his work, Tom stowed his wand again. “ _Go. Observe the corridors and grounds for anything suspicious. You will report what you find to Nagini, and she will bring that information to me.”_

With a chorus of hissed “ _yes, Speaker,”_ the serpents swiftly slithered out of the room.

“ _I shall go as well, Master_.” Nagini said, crawling down his back. “ _To insure that they do not screw up.”_

 _“Thank you, Nagini.”_ Switching back to English and ignoring the nervous expressions of the others in the room Tom said “I’ll need to delegate leadership assistance; we’ll split into three groups, each lead by one of my three lieutenants, if you will, so that I may remain free to go where I am needed. Ron. Hermione. The two of you are obvious choices. As for the third…”

His dark gaze roved casually across the gathering.

“The third person isn’t such an easy choice. I’d need someone just as hell-bent on protecting Harry as I am. Hell-bent enough to, I don’t know, resort to attempting to ‘deal with’ another student which they believe to be a threat to him. By blowing them up, perhaps? Maybe with a fire work. Anyone here that can fit that mold?”

Ginny stepped forward with a frown on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t have to be such a bloody Pratt, Gaunt.”

“Oh, darling, you’ve made it very clear that you believe I am _defined_ by my Prattishness.” Tom smirked at her as she left the ranks of the group to join Ron and Hermione at his side with a flippant roll of her eyes. “Irregardless, you will all divide yourselves equally into three groups each under the command of my fine lieutenants each of whom will be tasked with handling a separate third of the school. Should anything happen which could be deemed ‘out of sorts’ you are to immediately call for back up before engaging; we will communicate through use of the Patronus Charm. I’ve been told that you were taught it?”

Nods and grumbles of the affirmative.

“Good.” Tom pulled the bottle of Felix Felicis out of his pocket and held it up for them to see, eliciting a new round of mixed reactions. “A donation from Professor Slughorn to assist us in our efforts. Each of you will put three drops-no more and no less-on your tongue. That way, if something does happen, we can fall back on a mix of luck and caution to see all of us through it alive.”

“And what,” Zacharias, now with his mouth unsealed, demanded “will _you_ be doing during this?”

“General management. Damage control. I’ll be around; coming and going when needed; never more than a Patronus call away as I’ve already said.” He replied. “But we’ve wasted enough time already. Pass the bottle around-three drops _only_ -and move out. Remember: vigilance. I don’t want anyone dying tonight.”

“This is your great speech to inspire confidence in your ‘soldiers’, Gaunt?”

“Hardly,Ginerva. I must conserve my energy for other things. Besides, I’ve heard that Precious covered the ‘inspirational speech’ last year.” Tom snorted. “Messages carried by a Fox take priority, as that is my Patronus; I expect all of you at the very least alive, if not on your feet, by the end of the night. I’ve made it clear how to reach me should the need arise.”

With that said, Tom turned and left the Room of Requirement behind. Quickly running up to Gryffindor tower and excavating the Marauder’s Map from amongst Harry’s things, he headed to the third floor landing and scaled the small flight of stairs to the top of the clock tower. Moonlight streamed through the glass face of the antique clock, the spring bearing up the massive Pendulum sighing as it stretched and shortened. Seating himself in a pool of silver, Tom set the Map in front of him and tapped it with his wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Once the Map had fully unfolded across the parchment he opened it and spread it out on the floor before him. His dark eyes swept analytically back and forth across the miniature Castle. Examining the movements of the various labeled footprints mulling around in numerous areas. Ron and his third of the D.A. on the far left of the Castle, Hermione in the middle and Ginny closest to his current position. McGonagall and most of the staff members, including Snape, were either in their offices or their attached bedrooms. The general student populace were safely in their common rooms, most likely having already retired to their beds.

The only name he couldn’t find, despite his best efforts, was Draco Malfoy. His conversation with Snape and the Unbreakable Vow of Protection. Why? Because of a task that he’d been assigned. By whom? Presumably Voldemort, though they had no proof. Poisoned mead and a Cursed necklace from Borgin and Burke’s. But, again, no proof.”

 _‘We saw him go into Borgin and Burke’s last summer. What **else** could he have been doing_?’

Tom couldn’t help but think that Harry had a point. What else could he have been doing? What did he remember there being on offer at Borgin and Burke’s when last he’d been there? The very necklace which had been in the package that the Imperioed Katie Bell had attempted to bring into the Castle. Hands of Glory. A Vanishing Cabinet. A Hangman’s Rope.

Bloody hell, a Vanishing Cabinet! A Vanishing Cabinet just like the one which someone had been trying to repair in the Room of Hidden Things!

 _No!_ Barely sparing a moment of time to grab the map and cancel the spell, Tom stuffed it into one pocket of his robes and took off running down the corridors. Falling forwards onto all fours without sparing a thought to his actions and streaking up the stairs towards the 7 th floor, nearly bowling Filch over as he bolted between his legs. _The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement has a sister! The Vanishing Cabinet in bloody Borgin and Burke’s! And if it really has been repaired, repaired to the degree where a Human can safely use it, the Death Eaters will have an uninhibited means of entry into the Castle!_

Skidding to a stop in front of the tapestry of dancing Trolls and shifting back into his human body, he pulled out his wand and called the silver fox into being. “Draco Malfoy has repaired the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden things, opening a passageway between Hogwarts and Borgin and Burke’s in Nocturn Alley. Death Eaters may now be on the loose in the Castle: I’m going to stall them for as long as I can. Send a Patronus to the Order immediately!”

As his Patronus rushed off in search of the nearest of his three lieutenants Tom quietly pushed open the door and stepped cautiously inside. Tom carefully and quietly pushed open the door to step inside. Almost immediately he heard voices coming from behind the mounds and mounds of cast away contraband, most noticeable was a woman’s voice speaking in such a saccharine tone that it made him wince.

“Oh, such a _good_ boy my little Draky-kins! Managing to get us into the Castle all on his own! All without the help of stupid Snapey! The Dark Lord will be so pleased!”

“I…yes, well…Aunt Bella, please!” Tom heard Draco protest, a whine pervading his voice as the dark brunet drew cautiously closer. Aware that he was approaching their position Tom slowed his pace and crouched lower. Creeping closer and closer until he could finally see them.

Draco Malfoy, standing in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, practically being smothered by his Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange-the sight of whom alone was enough to start his blood boiling-and seven other Death Eaters one of whom, from his wild appearance, was almost certainly a werewolf.

Seven fully fledged Dark Wizards many of whom were likely personally trained by his counterpart, one massive werewolf and one student-potentially aided and abetted by another handful of cronies from Slytherin House-against himself, a little over 15 admittedly well trained members of the D.A., potentially a handful of staff members, five summoned snakes and Nagini. And for the time being he was on his own.

_I’m definitely going to need a distraction._

Thank Morganna, Merlin, Hecate and Circe that he was in the Room of Requirement, which was all too happy to provide in its own way for his admittedly rather vague request.

A badly beaten gramophone and a vinyl of _Sing Sing Sing_.

Smirking to himself, Tom crept over to it and picked up the record. Checking it over quickly for any scratches or other damage before setting it on the pin.

_I’m certain that Precious will find that he likes this song much better once he hears what I’m about to use it for._

Setting the needle down on the vinyl and turning it on, Tom swiftly hid himself from sight. Moments later the song began to blare from the mouth of the battered gramophone.

“What is that? What _is_ that? Where is it coming from?”

 _I almost wish that I could see those idiots trying to figure out where the gramophone is._ He thought distractedly, pulling his wand from his pocket with one hand as he peered around the corner of what might have once been some manner of couch which was now protruding at an odd angle from the pile his back was pressed against.

He waited only long enough for the Death Eater intruders to come fully into view before making his move. The dark brunet whirled out from behind his make shift shelter and pointed his wand at one of the mounds they were passing under.

_“Expulso!”_

A jet of blue light streaked across the room, hitting the massive deposit of centuries of junk and causing it to explode, pelting down bits of a myriad of objects which had now been reduced to nothing more than unrecognizable shrapnel. The werewolf let out a howl of alarm as he and a small handful of others were buried alive by the collapse.

“ _Crucio!”_ He cast it as he was returning to cover, resulting in the red light missing its mark. A marble bust behind Malfoy shattered, causing the blonde Slytherin to skitter away with a yelp.

His second attempt to attack led to him narrowly avoiding Bellatrix’s own Torture Curse.

“That Curse looked like you meant it.” That horrible baby voice was back, though now it held a tone of malice which made his hair stand on end. “Why don’t you come _out_ ,” the gramophone exploded into flames with a loud bang, ending the blaring music, “so that I can see you properly. It’s obvious already that you’re not Iccky Wittle Potty-kins, but with how hasty you were to jump back into your hole I didn’t get to see your face.”

The scattered items clattered as the werewolf worked to dig himself out of the avalanche which Tom had caused. He could tell by the rising volume of her voice that Bellatrix was getting closer.

“ _Confringo!”_

A flick of her wand shattered his spell into pearls of flame; the fact that Draco had disappeared from sight barely registered on Tom as he was once again forced to duck in cover.

Where had he gone? Was he cowering behind something out of sight in order to avoid any chance of being hit by a stray spell or being specifically targeted by Tom? Had he left the Room of Requirement entirely?

Where the _bloody hell_ was his back up?

“ ** _Gaunt!”_** Tom spun around to find Draco glaring at him from on top of a small rise only a handful of feet away, wand raised and pointed. Before he could react to defend himself the blonde snarled “ _Stupefy!”_ and a flash of red light overwhelmed his vision. He barely felt his body crash to the ground before everything went black.

“Well done, Draco.” Bellatrix praised, coming around the side of the mound with Greyback loping just behind. “Who is he?”

“Thomas Gaunt, the ‘transfer student’ and another annoying Gryffindor. Though he fancies himself a Dark Wizard.”

“That Unforgiveable he lobbed at you did seem pretty serious. Nothing like a wilting Light Flower.” The grime covered Werewolf crouched over the dark brunet’s prone form, long yellow claws tilting back his chin and tracing the curve of his neck. “Has a pretty neck, though. Almost feminine. Delicious.”

“Don’t touch him!”

Greyback showed his pointed teeth, making the Malfoy heir turn white as a sheet. “You got a thing for this Gryffindor or something? Can’t fault your taste if you do: he’s quite the slab of meat.”

“ _I don’t have ‘a thing’ for Thomas bloody Gaunt!_ ” Draco’s face had gone from chalk white to an ugly splotchy red in the blink of an eye. “Live bait works better than dead bait is all. He’s Potter’s boyfriend!”

“Iccky Potty-kins is gay, is he?” Bellatrix shrieked delightedly, bouncing on her heels. “And little Tommy the Gryffindor Lion is his boyfriend? Oh, yes, we _must_ bring him to the Dark Lord! But first we have to help Draky-kins do his job and get rid of Dumbledore!” She pointed her wand at Tom’s unconscious body. “Incarcerus!” Thick ropes coiled around his form like pythons, binding his limbs together so that he couldn’t escape even if he regained consciousness before they returned. “Harry-kins has landed himself quite the catch; even the Dark Lord won’t be able to resist having a go at him. By the time the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ comes to get his boyfriend he’ll find that Tommy Lion has developed a taste in _real_ men!”

Amycus and Alecto heckled at her comment but Draco wasn’t able to keep the disgust off of his face. Greyback’s hungry gaze never left the bound wizard.

“He’s too loyal to Potter: he’d die before betraying him for another, though that doesn’t mean he’s above teasing others,” he said sourly, making a point of stepping directly over Tom’s fallen body. “Rosmerta alerted me to the fact that Dumbledore has left the Castle for a drink but he could be back at any moment. We need to have everything set up before then.”


	43. The Lightning Struck Tower

The Silver Fox Patronus leapt up through the tiled floor, cutting them off on their rounds. It raised its head to fix Ginny, Neville and Luna in a blank silver stare before opening his mouth and beginning to deliver its message. Tom’s voice filled the hall around them, dark tone hushed into an urgent hiss.

“Draco Malfoy has repaired the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, opening a passage between Hogwarts and Borgin and Burke’s in Knockturn alley. Death Eaters may now be on the loose in the Castle: I’m going to stall them for as long as I can. Send a Patronus to the Order immediately.”

As the Patronus faded from view in flecks of silver, its metallic light vanishing from sight, the three students look to each other. Each catching sight of similar pale faces and drawn expressions. Repaired Vanishing Cabinet? Draco Malfoy? Death Eaters in the Castle? Tom holding them off alone?

Luna was the first to recover, a silver rabbit flying out the window in search of the Order before either of the other two could think to do so. Ginny recovered next, ripping her wand from the pocket of her robe and starting down the hall with Luna and a still very pale Neville just behind. They rushed up to the seventh floor and turned the corner into the corridor where the Room of Requirement was just as the door was swinging open; it will grab them both and pulled them behind a pillar just in time to avoid being seen by the black-robed figures who spilled out of it.

All three clutch their bonds tightly in white knuckled hands, hardly daring to breathe as the Death Eaters went by. Quite a few of them were cut and bruised from a duel and Draco looked highly discomfited though whether that was due to the fight that they had just gone through or the sharp-toothed Werewolf leering at him from a few steps away wasn’t clear.

 _You had better not be dead, Riddle._ Arrogant bastard that he was and as much as she might hate him, Ginny was now pointedly aware what the loss of the dark brunet would do to Harry. Tom’s death would be a blow from which the raven would never recover.

She barely gave the Death Eaters a chance to get out of sight before she darted out from their hiding place; calling the door to the Room of Hidden Things back into existence, Ginny barreled through it without missing a beat.

“Split up! Search the room! We have to find him!” The red head didn’t wait for either of the two to move on her order before she barreled forward into the labyrinth of discarded objects. Searching for the Vanishing Cabinet. Searching for the remnants of a fight. Searching for any sign of the dark brunet.

“Ginny!” It was Neville’s voice, calling from the right of her and two hills over. “I’ve found him! He’s over here!”

She bolted. Leaping over the smaller objects and weaving around the large ones, Luna appearing on her left from behind a badly battered trunk, slowing only once the two boys came into view. Neville standing with his own wand in one hand and Tom’s in the other and Tom bound and motionless on the floor but alive. Alive and unharmed.

After all, there was no point in tying up a corpse.

Ginny fell to her knees beside him and began tearing at the ropes which had been coiled tight around his body. “Help me to untie him! We need to wake him up!”

Neville and Luna were beside her quickly, helping Ginny to loosen and unwind the ropes that bound him; managing to uncoil them after five minutes of tugging and bloodying their nails.

“He’s been Stupefied.”

“This idiot faced off against an entire pack of Death Eaters and Draco Malfoy alone and got off with just being Stupefied? Lucky bleeding Git!” The red-head hissed, making a point of prodding Tom a bit more sharply than need be with her wand. “Rennervate!”

The dark brunet groaned, blue eyes blinking open and slowly focusing in on them. “Weasley?”

“You were stunned and bound; the Death Eaters are loose in the Castle as we speak.” She informed him rather flatly as he pushed himself back to his feet, taking his wand from Neville with a muttered word of thanks. “We sent a Patronus to contact the Order, as you requested, and came immediately here to find you unconscious.”

“Draco Malfoy got the drop on me.” Tom admitted with an unhappy hiss, sweeping passed them and over towards the Vanishing Cabinet. “He came around the other side of the mound that I was using as cover while I was busy with fending off the rest of them. Caught my attention and pegged me with a stunner right in the chest. But I’ll get him back. I’ll get all of them back.” Flinching slightly, he began to rub gently at the hand which bore the ring. “Before the night is over, if I have my way.”

“Something wrong with your hand, Tom?” Luna’s somewhat bulging eyes were set on the little black stone. “You seem to be in pain.”

“…You’re more astute than most give you credit for: I can see why Precious thinks so highly of you and considers you so dangerous.” Tom told her with a sigh, his expression relaxing as the ring cooled again. “There’s a very specific reason that I gave Harry my ancestor’s locket. It, like my ring, is enchanted so that if one of us is in danger the item in the other’s possession will burn to alert them and, if they are close enough, lead them to where they are. If the danger is dealt with the ring or locket, respectively, return to a normal temperature. They turn cold as ice if one of us is killed.” His dark gaze landed pointedly on Ginny, “or the item in question is forcibly wrested from our person.”

“I’m not going to apologize to you for doing what I thought I had to in order to protect Harry!”

“Nor would I, were our position reversed. Which is precisely why I’m going to have you come with me to watch my back while we collect the members of the Order who have answered our call. Neville, Luna, seal the door against the Death Eaters coming back in and wait for us here. Once we come back with the Order in tow we’ll give those bastards hell!” He flung the doors of the cabinet open harshly, causing them to bang against the surrounding clutter and rebound slightly on their hinges. “Send out Patronuses to wake the staff that aren’t already aware of what is going on; we’ll need every adult wizard we can get to help us out when the fighting starts if we’re going to keep the casualties to a minimum.”

“Right.”

“Do you know how to work this thing, Tom?”

“’Do I know how to work it’ she asks.” He snorted, stepping up into the left side of the cabinet and grabbing the edge of the door attached to the same side. “Just climb in and close the door. I’ll operate it.”

Tom made sure that the younger witch followed his directions before closing the door on his side as well.

“Armarium Onerariis: Borgin and Burke’s!” A faint flash of colorless light went off and they were jerked violently forwards, nearly toppling out of the cabinet on the other end and onto the ground but managing to retain their feet at the last possible moment.

“I was told you weren’t going to- _hey!”_

 _“Incarcerus Serpenti!”_ A massive serpent shot from the tip of his wand, coiling itself tightly around the shopkeeper’s body and dragging him to the floor with a thump. When the greasy man attempted to wriggle free it flashed its dagger fangs in his face with a threatening hiss. “I would suggest that you behave, Borgin. Struggle, and it will bite you. Scream, and it will bite you. The venom in that serpent’s fangs will see you transformed into a puddle on your floor within minutes: long before anyone could hope to get you to St.Mungo’s for medical aid. I’m understood?” the man let out a terrified squeak as the coils tightened. “Marvelous.”

“Are you through?” Ginny demanded sourly, turning the sign which hung in the window from OPEN to CLOSED.

“Quite. Those in the Order of the Phoenix who are going to be coming to our aid should have arrived in Diagon Alley by now and we ought to go collect them.” With a business-like air about him Tom thrust open the door and strolled out onto the darkened street. Calmly sliding his arm around her waist and ignoring her struggles to free herself, he hissed into her ear. “Stop fighting me, Ginerva: act like you’re with me and like you belong here. No one’s going to question me, but the Weasley-hair doesn’t exactly _scream_ Dark Wizard.”

Less than happy about the matter, but aware of the fact that he had an iron-clad point Ginny reluctantly relaxed into his side. “You’d better hope and pray I don’t tell Harry about this.”

“Was that supposed to be a threat?” he pulled her around the corner and into the snickleway which led to Diagon Alley. “Precious knows that I’d never be caught dead in bed with a woman.”

He had her there.

Tom’s dark eyes swept across the shadowed alley, catching sight of the rapidly approaching group and waving them over. Gaze sliding fluidly over the three wizards and lone witch who had answered their call.

“Remus, Bill, Kingsley, Tonks. You’re the only ones who received the message?”

“No one else was at Head Quarters when we received Ms. Lovegood’s Patronus and the matter was far too urgent for us to wait until others arrived.” Remus told him. “Kingsley sent a Patronus to alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before we left; Aurors will be dispatched both to Knockturn Alley and Hogwarts soon.”

“Pity. I’ll have to cut my fun short, then.” Tom turned on his heel, red and black robes billowing imperiously behind him. “Come along, all of you; no time to waste.”

“I’d say that I almost feel sorry for what the Death Eaters will be going through once you’ve gotten to them, but that would be a lie.” Ginny said darkly, trailing him.

Tom’s answering smile was small and dangerous. “I won’t get to do quite what I’d like to with all of them, Ginerva. Though Precious and his bleeding heart aren’t here to shackle me at the moment, I’ve found myself with a time restraint in a red-robe.”

“So Dark Lord Lite, then?”

“You’ll still get the fireworks show, yes, if that’s what you’re asking. On that note, bite your tongue: there _is_ someone here who’s unaware of me after all.”

“Bill can’t hear us from up here.”

“One can never quite be sure about such matters, Ms. Weasley.” He kicked the door of Borgin and Burke’s back open with a loud bang, strolling calmly into the store, leering at the bound man still lying behind the counter. In a voice more than loud enough to be heard by their entire group he inquired, “he’ll be picked up by the Ministry’s Aurors, then?”

“Eventually. Once they find their way to the place at least.” Tonks reported.

“Let’s speed the process up a bit, shall we?” a flick of his wrist filled the gloomy store with silver light as the fox wound itself calmly about the dark brunet’s legs before tilting its head to look up at him. “Head to the front of the Alley and wait. When the Aurors arrive, lead them to this…hole.”

The Patronus disappeared out the door and into the night, taking its soft glow with it.

“So you’ve managed a Corporeal Patronus, Tom?” Lupin’s answer came in the form of a curt nod as the younger male rounded the far end of the counter to stand over Borgin with a dark expression. “How long ago, if I might ask.”

“I’ve had the memory that I used since Christmas Eve but wasn’t presented with an opportunity to practice until the last Hogs-meade weekend of the year; the first time we went down into the Chamber of Secrets-both to practice and to sell off most of the remains of the family pet, not that you Aurors in the group heard a damned bloody thing about trading in the parts of highly illegal Dark Creatures-we didn’t get to because Precious decided he’d much rather go swimming and, well, the resulting shower got us…sidetracked. So about two months.”

Ginny made a choking sound as Tom transfigured the serpent binding the clerk into a normal rope so that the Aurors wouldn’t have to bother themselves with an unruly and highly venomous warden. “Is there _anything_ about Harry that _doesn’t_ get you ‘sidetracked’ Tom?”

“When it comes down to Precious I’ve two modes: out of my mind with sexual frustration and out of my mind with worry because all the Galleons in the world couldn’t buy the Boy-Who-Lived-Through-Sheer- _Dumb_ -Luck and yes, there _should_ be an emphasis on dumb-a sense of self-preservation despite his handful of Slytherin traits.” He swept over to the Vanishing Cabinet again. “That answer your question?”

“Brilliantly. Can I quote that?”

“Maybe later. We’ve a pack of Death Eater’s to terrorize and I’d dare say we’ve wasted enough time already.” Coming to a stop directly in front of the cabinet he turned to face them again. “This, for those who may not know, is a Vanishing Cabinet. Its sister, through some manner or another, wound up in Hogwarts _long_ ago but was until recently badly damaged. Draco Malfoy spent the majority of the year repairing it, ultimately opening an uninhibited passage into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the Death Eaters to use. The D.A-those students training in Defense last year by Harry-commandeered it through force and are, as we speak, assisting the staff in defending the school. Harry and Dumbledore are out at the moment on an errand of integral importance to the outcome of the war but could return at any moment and we _cannot_ allow them to be intercepted as we believe the Headmaster to be their ultimate target. Split up into pairs and step into the cabinet; you’ll come out in the Room of Hidden Things, a variation of the Room of Requirement, where you will find Neville and Luna waiting for you with a bottle of Felix Felicis courtesy of the current Potions Master. Each of you will take three drops and wait for my second and I to arrive: we’ll be last the follow.”

“I’m your second, am I?”

“We’ve discussed why.”

“Who knew that attempting to murder someone with fireworks would get me so far.”

“I’d advise against attempting such in corporate life, Ginerva.”

“And _I’d_ advise you don’t tell Harry that someone’s taken his place, Tom.”

“Precious was never my second: we’re on equal footing.” The dark brunet shot back calmly. “Shacklebolt and Tonks, you first. Then Lupin and Weasley. We’ll be along immediate afterwards.”

As the Order members scrambled to do as they’d been told Ginny looked over at Tom. The older male’s dark gaze was set on the street outside, though whether he was watching for the Aurors or more Death Eaters she couldn’t tell.

“Riddle.”

“You know better than to call me that around those who don’t know the truth, Ginerva.”

“I needed your attention.”

“And you’d have gotten it just as easily by referring to me as Gaunt.”

“I wasn’t about to risk that and waste time: my question is important.”

“Then ask.” His voice bordered on harsh as Remus and Bill stepped up to the cabinet.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit of a bad idea to name me as your second when we don’t get along?”

“If I recall correctly, Ms.Weasley, the only one of the two of us doing the ‘not getting along’ is you. I’ve no problem with you-at least, no more so than I do with anyone else-and you reacted far more mildly than I would have in your place. Had things been reversed it would have been Killing Curses and not fireworks flying through that hallway.” He pulled the door of the cabinet back open. “Ladies first.”

“Prat.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny caught him smirk.

“Tom!” Neville rushed up to him the moment that the pair stepped back out into the Room of Requirement. “They’re back! Hermione sent word that they fell for the bait: they were spotted flying on brooms towards the Astronomy tower!”

“Bait?” Tom hissed.

“The Mark.” The other boy replied in a wavering voice. “They cast the Dark Mark over the Castle!”

“No time to waste, then: back up from the actual authorities is supposedly on the way but as things stand we cannot sit around and wait for that. Send a message to the others that they’re to be joined by members of the Order of the Phoenix and a pointed request that everyone converge on the Astronomy tower at once; we’ll try and head them off!”

A flurry of activity followed his barked commands as those around him hastened to do as they’d been told. Tom gave no effort to wait until anyone else was ready to follow him and exited the room; whirling around with his wand raised when someone caught his arm.

“Merlin, Ginerva! Do you _have_ a death wish?”

“No, but it seems that you might Tom! After you got away lucky once you’re really going to go after the Death Eaters alone _again_?”

“I don’t have the time to wait for the lot of you to get your arses moving!”

“So you were just going to leave on your own?”

“At current, Harry’s not in any position which requires saving from. I’d prefer that things remain that way.” He replied dryly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Until you need someone to Rennervate you, you mean.”

“That was different; I was merely trying to delay them at the time. So that they could be brought in for questioning.”

“That’s changed?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “The deranged bitch made things personal: I may have been stunned but I could still _hear_ them!”

“I’m coming with you!”

“I-!”

“As your second, it’s my job to watch your back while he’s not around to do so isn’t it?” she cut in, ignoring his furious glare. “Harry told me about your Boggart, you know. Your greatest fear is losing him, so surely you can imagine what losing you would do to him.”

“…Leveraging the weaknesses of your allies against them for your own benefit is astoundingly Slytherin of you.” He said sourly, freeing his arm from her grip with a firm tug. “Very well, you may make yourself useful as my sideguard. Though you may regret having asked to do so: I’ll be using my full knowledge of the Dark Arts and refuse to be held accountable should you find yourself struck down by friendly fire.”

“It’d be my fault if I couldn’t get out of the way in time. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ginny replied in a voice which was far too cheerful for Tom’s liking as he continued down the hall.

“Just keep up.”

The faction of fighters under the leadership of both Ron and Hermione had already arrived before them and engaged a good portion of the invading Death Eaters in a fierce duel in an effort to prevent them from proceeding any further into the school. An effort which was, it seemed, futile as Bellatrix Greyback and a few others were nowhere to be seen. As was Draco.

 _Despite the assistance of more than a few members of staff, it’s a bleeding good thing that all of us took that potion. Otherwise, there would surely be at least a few of us dead by now._ Dark eyes scanned the battle torn hallway as he moved forwards into the melee, letting fly with a brutal Slashing Curse and taking down the nearest attacker in a shower of blood. “ _Back me! We need to get to the other side of this and track down the others!”_

The pair pushed forwards as best they could with combat raging all around them, dodging Hexes Curses and Jinxes of all sorts as they went and raining more than their fair share down on the heads of their enemies whenever the chance presented itself. They’d only made it half way across the mire of warfare and things had all but ground to a stale mate between the two sides when it happened; a flash of eldritch light lanced through the hallway’s windows, drawing the attention of all in the battle to the top of the highest tower and freezing them where they stood at the sight of a dark blur plummeting downwards to break on the cobblestones lit by the glow of the Dark Mark which hung in the sky above.

_No!_

Horror at the knowledge of who it was he’d just seen fall clashed with the nearly unfathomable relief at the knowledge of who it _wasn’t_ as all thoughts of everything other than getting to his raven immediately and making sure that he was safe vanished up in smoke.

Ignoring the resuming battle pressing in from all sides and leaving Ginny to fend for herself Tom barreled through the crush of opponents, thrashing his way through the tight throng which clogged the ruined hall for a few steps more before dropping down onto all fours. Using his smaller form to maneuver between running feet and over scattered rubble before finally managing to break free of the fighting entirely.

_Find him! I have to find him! Oh, please Merlin don’t let any of them get to him before me!_

At least he knew, by its absence from his trunk when Tom had gone through his belongings in search of the Marauder’s Map, that Harry had taken his Invisibility Cloak with him. Not that he would remain hidden to save himself should the Death Eaters present him an opportunity to attack, especially after what they’d just done.

Skidding around a corner at full speed, Tom barely managed to jump clear of the Dark Curse sent whizzing at him from the far end of the hall. His hackles rose at the sight of the caster, tail pole straight in the air and lips pulled back over sharp teeth in a vicious snarl.

“Ickky wittle Potty’s boyfriend makes a pwetty wittle foxy-poo. Did your wittle friends wake you from your nappy, Tommy-kins?”

Tom coiled back on himself, ready to either pounce or flee, and let out a snarl in response. There would be no getting around Bellatrix, but perhaps that would be for the best. After all, if he was dealing with her that meant that Harry wasn’t.

All he needed to do now was get her somewhere where he knew they’d be alone for long enough for him to have a chance at finishing her.

“I know that my dear nephew wanted to keep you alive, probably to get you back for what I heard you did at him at Platform 9 ¾, as ‘live bait’ but I know that Potty-kins will still come after me even if he _can’t_ save you just like he did after my mutt cousin’s unfortunate…accident. And that plush black fur of yours would make a marvelous throw to go with my dress, but of course what’s ultimately done to you is for the Dark Lord to decide. Homorphus!”

Narrowly avoiding the spell which would have forced him back into his Human form Tom bolted back around the corner and through a false wall into the secret passageway beyond, dodging the continued efforts of his pursuer as he went. The passage spit him out at the base of the Grand Staircase across from the doors of the Great Hall and he made for the doors but Bellatrix managed to peg him just as he was passing through them. The magic burned through his veins as it forced him to resume his natural form midway through sliding underneath the Hufflepuff table, wedging him underneath a bench.

“Caught you wittle- _eek!”_ The brief but potent Crucio knocked her to the tile floor, giving him enough time to dislodge himself and escape across the room, clambering onto the top of the green and silver draped Slytherin table.

“Didn’t you hear me earlier, Lestrange, when I warned the lot of you that though I may have quite the soft spot for him I am _nothing_ like Harry. I’m far Darker. More, even, then you.”

“How dare you ever consider yourself to be above me, whelp! I, who is the favorite and most loyal of the Dark Lord’s followers! I, whom he personally trained! I, who remained loyal while most all others did not and proudly spent 14 years in Azkaban for him!”

“I’m sure he appreciated the show of solidarity, Bella. Not that it got him anywhere.” Tom grinned ferally when he saw the mad woman’s pupils dilate with rage. _Got you._

“ ** _Avada Kedavra!_**

Tom sidestepped the jet of green light and waved his wand at the Slytherin banner hanging over head. The embossed silver serpent slid off of it and hit the floor with a heavy thud, its metallic body grinding against the stone floor as it launched itself towards her. Crashing through the middle of the Hufflepuff table when she lunged clear of its strike before blowing it to smithereens. She sent the shrapnel flying at him in a swarm of deadly projectiles but he easily decimated them with a silent Shield Charm. A pulse of Dark Magic threw the black haired witch violently to the ground, toppled the benches and flipped the tables around them, knocked the floating candles from the air and blew out every window in the Great Hall showering them both in a hail of razors.

Tom shook the bladed silver dust from his dark hair and broad shoulders, paying no mind to the few shallow nicks along his face hands and neck which were now oozing thin streams of blood. “Think your Master is the only Dark Wizard who likes to play with fire, Bella?” he sneered, a controlled jet of deep orange Fiendfyre billowing from the tip of his wand. “Think again.”

With a gleeful flourish and a sharp puff of air the flames burst outwards into a vicious plume, a ten foot stag of burning embers with its flaming antlers lowered charging free to run her down. Pushing before it a blistering wave of air so hot that everything it touched caught fire. Wisely, but to his great disappointment, his opponent chose that moment to flee through one of the many broken windows in a column of black smoke.

Tom released the spell, allowing the stag to crumble into a shapeless conflagration with a pop and a crash and leaving the Great Hall scattered with broken glass and scarred by flame wake. Struggling through his rampant worry and boiling rage in an effort to regain a handle on himself before rejoining the battle still going on outside. He didn’t know how long it was that he stood there before the stringent sound of McGonagall’s voice jarred him back to focus.

“ _Thomas!”_ He whirled around, gaze honing in on where the green-clad witch stood with Ginny on one side and Zacharias on the other. “We can handle things inside the Castle from here, and the matter of what you’ve done to the Great Hall can be seen to later. Mr. Potter was spotted heading towards Hagrid’s hut, running after Snape as he escaped with Mr. Malfoy. Go to him.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Rocketing passed them so quickly that he slammed into the opposite wall before bursting through the front doors of the Castle and flying across the slopping grounds beyond.

“Galloping Gargoyles!” Zacharias yowled, staring after him as the last wisps of black haze dissipated from sight. “No one said a bloody thing about him being a _Dark Wizard!”_

Ginny sent the loud mouthed Hufflepuff a look of pointed annoyance. “You, Smith, have **_no_** idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to see what Tom can do when he isn't holding back. There's still the tail end of the battle left for the next chapter, but hopefully this helped iron out a bit of the questions left by last chapter's cliffhanger.


	44. The Fox and the Stag

He could see them now; Harry, with his wand drawn and teeth bared, had cornered Snape and Draco in front of the Game Keeper’s hut. His attention was so focused on their former teacher, so intent on drilling into his greasy head what sounded like “he trusted you!” that he didn’t notice the cloaked figure which was sneaking up behind him.

Down the hill and through the grass in a flash of dark smoke, Tom appeared at the raven’s back and shot off a Killing Curse before the prowling Death Eater could even register the fact that he was there.

_“Pay attention to your surroundings, damn it!”_

_“He killed him, Tom! Snape, not Draco! Dumbledore trusted him, and he killed him!”_

_“I know, I saw it, but you need to focus! Especially when you’re alone; you were nearly ambushed just now! Don’t let anger blind you!”_ With his wand calmly leveled at Draco and Harry’s-quivering slightly with barely suppressed rage-leveled at Snape Tom schooled his expression into a pleasant smile. “Hello, Draco.”

“One of them woke you up, did they? Shame: you’re much more pleasant unconscious.”

The smile lifted further into a sneer. “I’d watch your tongue were I you, Little Dragon. I’m no longer in the mood for taking prisoners, as your dead friend there ought to attest, and have already sent your mad Aunt packing back to your Master with her tail between her legs. What do you think I can do to you?”

“What _should_ we do with them, Tom?” the raven watched Snape’s wand alternate between pointing at him and pointing at Tom every few seconds with a surge of vindictive glee. “They couldn’t kill me if they wanted to, what with the fact that I ‘belong to the Dark Lord’ and you’re too strong for them to catch out when you’re serious about dealing with them.”

“Whatever it is that we’re going to do with them we’d better do it quickly, Precious.” Tom replied, his tone flippantly casual. “The Aurors are here.”

Wide eyed with obvious fear, Draco edged further behind the other man in the hopes of making himself a smaller target.

“Invented anything new recently? Maybe something a bit Darker than you’d otherwise be able to test?”

“Anything new? Unfortunately, I haven’t. But there _are_ a few older creations of mine which could still stand to bear some ironing out. Would that be satisfactory?”

Harry’s expression was chiseled out of stone. “That will do fine.”

Tom caught the barest glimmer of intent before the other man acted and made to raise his wand higher but wasn’t quite fast enough. The strength of the Knockback Jinx sent both of them to the ground, his back colliding with the earth hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, spots of vibrant colors exploding before his vision.

The dark brunet barely had the chance to gasp for air in an effort to refill them before four shadows fell over them, men in red robes dragging them upright with rough hands. Snape and Draco had both disappeared.

 _Damn it!_ He thought sourly, glaring daggers at the spot where the two had last been standing while Harry thrashed violently in the Auror’s hold.

“Let them go you bloody idiots! Can’t you see that those are students you’re holding and not Death Eaters: the Gryffindor robes they’re wearing ought to be a damn good indication!”

Tom never could have imagined that there would ever come a time where he would be _relieved_ to see Mad-Eye Moody. Their captors appeared equally surprised to see the Ex-Auror hobbling up to them, though not enough to make them loosen their grip.

“Do I need to repeat myself? Or have you not realized that one of the one’s you’re holding is Harry Potter?”

One of the Aurors holding the raven pushed back his black bangs to check his forehead-not that Harry made it easy for him-and revealed the distinctive scar. They didn’t hesitate to release them after that; Harry tore himself free so violently that he very nearly fell over onto the ground. Righting himself after briefly stumbling he made an effort to go tearing off blindly into the dark in the direction that the two had likely gone only to have Moody grab him by the arm and hold him fast.

“Enough, Potter! There’s nothing to be served by running after them; Albus wouldn’t want you to go throwing your life away over him. It won’t bring him back.”

“He’s right, Harry.” Taking his other arm in a much more gentle grip, Tom pulled the smaller male against him. “It’s over. They got away, this time, but that’s not to say they’ll go unpunished. We’ll get them next time.”

Harry clung to him, hands fisted in the black and red fabric of his robes, and broke down. Tears of anger turning swiftly into tears of grief as the rage ebbed away and all of the stress and fighting came down on him at once. Burying his face in the other’s chest and all but collapsing against him as tears soaked through the shirt that he wore underneath.

Though exhausted himself, Tom held him up and held him close. Arms wrapped tight around the other’s quivering form as he cried until no more tears would come and his eyes were painfully red and swollen. Moody and the Aurors from the Ministry had left by then, taking the body of the Death Eater with them, and the two boys were now entirely alone. With Harry still entirely limp against him, Tom gently tugged him over towards Hagrid’s hut and lowered him down onto the steps outside the door.

“Are you alright? Injured at all? Why are you wet?”

“I’m fine.” His voice was hoarse from all of the crying and screaming he had done and his green eyes held a thousand yard stare. “I’ll tell you later.”

Though that answer was far from satisfactory Tom allowed the matter to drop, gently tracing light fingers up and down the contours of his spine.

“We should go back up there.” Harry said suddenly, still staring straight ahead as he rested against the dark brunet’s shoulder. “Everyone must be there by now.”

“Are you sure that you’re up to it, Precious? I mean… You saw it. Well, we all did but… There’s no need to traumatize yourself.”

“I can handle it.”

Tom couldn’t help but think that his tone didn’t make it sound like it but, regardless, he stood with a sigh and held out a hand to help Harry to his feet. “Come on, then.”

The raven clung to his arm as they walked, trudging slowly up the hill back towards the Castle.

“Who else has died?” Harry’s voice was so quiet that he almost didn’t catch his words over the sounds of their footsteps in the grass.

“No one. At least, no one on our side.” Tom assured him. “Though there are injuries.”

“No one else has died? Think Merlin for that. How? The Death Eaters that came were dangerous: Bellatrix, and _Greyback_!”

“Because of your impeccable training, love. And because of Professor Slughorn: he gave me the remainder of the Felix Felicis that he’d brewed at the beginning of the year and I distributed it to everyone who answered the coin.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

The courtyard had filled with staff and students. All standing in a ring around the crumpled form of the Headmaster. All holding lit wands aloft. They parted before them, allowing the two to proceed unhindered to the center of the circle, Nagini falling in on the raven’s other side from where she’d taken shelter behind a small pile of rubble.

“ _He is safe?”_ She hissed at him as Harry fell to his knees beside the body, Tom looking on in concern as a fresh bout of tears began to fall.

“ _Yes. He’s safe. Luckily.”_ He told his familiar quietly as she coiled herself up at the raven’s side. “ _Though I’ve yet to receive the whole story of what he’s gone through, I can only imagine it was hell.”_

Tearing his eyes away from Harry’s hunched form, Tom set his gaze on the sickly glow of the Dark Mark hanging over their heads and raised his wand. A streak of gold shot upwards into the very center of the massive skull, flashing in the empty sockets of its eyes like lightning in a storm cloud, and the Dark Mark shattered apart. Trickling down from the night sky in a shower of glittering stars.

As the heavens cleared of the last traces of Voldemort’s mark, Tom bent and gently pulled Harry back to his feet.

“We’ve bested them this time, but at heavy cost, and the war is not over. If we’re to stand any chance of survival, at defeating them and preserving our way of life, we need to make the best use possible of every moment. The time to mourn will come. There will be a funeral. But for now we are better served to tend to the wounded and rebuild.” He spoke in a calm and even tone, yet his voice carried more than a Sonorous Charm could ever hope to. All eyes, it seemed, were on him as he tightened his grip on Harry. “Where one hero falls, another rises. We cannot afford to fall to pieces when we still have a leader to rally around. The Boy-Who-Lived has defeated the Dark Lord before, thwarted him many times, and he can do so again. Allow me to be the first to pledge my allegiance to him; May the Stag lead as were the Phoenix could not!”

“The Fox certainly has quite the Serpent’s tongue.” Harry murmured into his neck over the sudden outburst of noise that the other’s declaration had brought about.

“We bear marked similarities.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me as a leader in the war.”

“I didn’t and I don’t. But it can’t be helped, now. Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t be doing my damnedest to keep you from changing because of it; you may be the Light’s new symbol, Precious, but you won’t be leading alone.”

“The Fox and the Stag, then?”

Tom nodded, briefly burying his face in the other’s wild hair. “The Fox and the Stag.” He pulled away. “It seems that the student body is being dismissed back to the common rooms: you are damp and smell like brine. Let’s get you cleaned up before you tell me what happened in that cave.”

Harry nodded weakly against him and made no effort to squirm free when the older boy tugged him off his feet and into his arms. The atmosphere in the common room was, to put things mildly, subdued. Drawn pale faces and vacant stares marred the expressions of most in the room and it was obvious that no one planned on getting any more sleep that night. Tom caught the eyes of Ron, Hermione and Ginny and shook his head in a silent command for them to stay put as he carried the raven into the bathroom. Setting him down only once they’d reached the showers and summoning both a towel and clean set of clothing for him with a flick of his wand.

“I’ll appease the three of them while you’re in here; so don’t worry about being jumped when you come out. Take your time.” Disentangling Harry’s arms from his shoulders and planting a swift kiss on his temple, Tom left the room and made his way over to where the other three were sitting, visibly bursting with questions.

“Don’t bottle yourselves up: it’s bad to internalize things.”

“Is he alright? Are you? Ginny says that she was with you during the battle in the hallway but that you ran off after…” Hermione cut herself off and bit her lip, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Ron hung his head and ran a hand carelessly through his red hair. Ginny stared straight at him, waiting for his answer.

“I’m fine, just a bit cut up from the broken windows in the Great Hall. And, I suppose, a bit singed. Fiendfyre, even when controlled, will do that. Harry, too, is fine. Physically, at least. He did see it happen. As for what he went through with the Headmaster… I know what they were hunting, but I don’t know what happened at that cave. He said that he’d tell me, but…” Tom shrugged helplessly, then set his eyes on Ginny. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But when I saw what happened, when I realized that the Death Eaters had gotten through and cornered them and that Harry was in danger-.”

“Don’t.” She told him flatly. “I can take care of myself, Tom. And, frankly, if you _hadn’t_ immediately gone running to find Harry I’d be Hexing you right now!”

“What were they doing?” Hermione asked him, having once more managed to wrestle back the tears. “You said that you knew. So tell us. What were they doing? What were they hunting for that’s so important that it could determine the outcome of the war; what _one_ _thing_ could have that much power? And did they get it?”

“It’s not one thing, it’s seven. As for whether or not they succeeded in retrieving it I don’t know. I’m afraid I’m not comfortable discussing the matter any further with you without running it by Harry first; regardless of whether I believe he trusts you are not, you must understand they were asked to handle this matter with the utmost discretion. If this information falls into the hands of the Dark Lord, it’s over.”

None of them looked pleased, but all three nodded regardless. They sat in continued silence for a while before Ron spoke up again.

“Fiendfyre is some serious Dark Magic, mate. Ginny said you destroyed the Great Hall during your duel with Bellatrix.”

“I only saw the tail end of it, mind you, but he was brilliant!”

“Careful, Ginerva. People will start to think that you respect me, talking like that.”

“Good. She should respect you.” Black hair still damp from the shower but now in dry clothes, Harry pressed himself into Tom’s side. Melting against him as the larger male slung his arm carelessly over his shoulders.

Nagini slithered over to him along the back of the couch. “ _Are you up to telling us what happened?”_

_“You and Tom. Not the others.”_

_“We can’t leave them out forever, Precious.”_ The dark brunet pointed out, beginning to stroke his hair. _“They are your friends. They deserve to know.”_

_“They’ll want to come.”_

_“Let them. You can’t do this alone.”_

_“I am not alone. I have you. And Nagini.”_

_“There is strength in numbers, Harry. Take it from someone who used to stand on their own, assistance is worth more than all the gold in the world. We’ll need them.”_

_“… …”_ Harry huffed, but Tom could tell from the slump in his posture that he’d given in. “ _Fine. Tomorrow, after the funeral, I’ll tell Ron and Hermione. Not Ginny.”_

_“She saved me, you know. Along with Luna and Neville.” He told him softly. “I know that you’re still angry, but you don’t need to be mistrusting.”_

_“It has nothing to do with whether or not I trust her, Tom. She’s too young. And going after Horcruxes is unlike anything we’ve done before; it could very well turn out to be a suicide mission.”_

Tom recognize the truth in that statement, and accepted it without arguing. Meeting the expectant gazes of the other three, he switched back into English. “We’ll speak with you both-Ron, Hermione-after the funeral. But not Ginny. She’s too young. It’s too dangerous.”

Surprisingly, rather than argue Ginny nodded stiffly though it was obvious she wasn’t pleased.

“Alright. We’ll meet you after the funeral, then. On the covered bridge.”

“On the covered bridge.” Tom agreed, tugging Harry gently back to his feet. “Come on, Precious. We’ll find somewhere private to discuss this.”

The raven simply nodded in silence and allowed himself to be led out of the room. Tom descended the steps of Gryffindor tower and set out through the corridors, only stopping once they’d reached the balcony on the 4th floor. Throwing up a Silencing Charm, he turned to face Harry.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.”

Instead of speaking, Harry pulled out the locket they’d taken from the tidal cave. “This fell out of Dumbledore’s pocket. Here.” Tom flinched back when Harry held it out to him, prompting the raven to flash a mirthless smile. “Just take it.”

“Harry, we don’t know how a Horcrux-.”

“It’s not a Horcrux.”

Tom stared at him blankly for a moment, struggling to process what he’d just been told. “W-What? What do you mean it’s not a Horcrux?”

Harry held it out to him again, this time taking a step towards him. “See for yourself.”

The dark brunet reached out and took the locket, the slightly corroded chain cold as it slithered across the back of his hand. He knew instantly that there was something wrong. The metal was too smooth. The clasp the wrong shape. Frantic, Tom turned the locket over in his hands. Searching for the ornate S that was the mark of his ancestor.

It wasn’t there.

“It’s a fake.” The words left him nearly breathless, his body cold with horror. The locket he held wasn’t even a Founder’s item, let alone a Horcrux, but rather a mere piece of jewelry. It had been replaced. But how? Had Voldemort somehow caught wind of what Dumbledore had been doing, what they were now tasked with, or had someone else gotten to it before them?

If so, what had they done with it?

His musings were interrupted by Harry’s strained voice. “It was useless. All of it. The Blood Offering to get rid of the wall. That awful potion he had me force him to drink. Fighting off the Inferi. Nothing! He died for nothing!”

The raven kicked at the railing of the balcony and hissed in pain when his foot made contact with the stone.

“Voldemort could have it; could be wearing the damn thing as we speak! Or someone else! It could be _anywhere_ in the world by now and we have no way of knowing who might have taken it. Who else could possibly _know_ about it?”

“Maybe not.” Tom said, picking up the tightly folded slip of paper that had been sitting inside of the clasp and quickly unfolding it. “There’s a note in here.”

“What?” anger dissipating into hope, Harry gave up his attempts to manually bring down the railing and returned to his side. “What does it say?”

“To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.”

“R.A.B.?” Harry repeated bitterly. “R.A.B.! That tells us nothing! It’s just a handful of letters! The bastard couldn’t even be bothered to write his fully bloody name down!”

“We may still be able to determine who it was that left this. By compiling a list of Death Eaters. Searching through them for anyone with those initials-.”

“And if they weren’t a Death Eater?” he snapped irritably, turning his back on him and stalking back to the railing. Leaning over it and glaring down at the ground far below. “What then, Tom, since you seem to have an answer for everything!”

The night had been hard and they were all at their wit’s end. Tom knew better than to begrudge him that statement. “We’ll think of something.” It was not the answer that either of them had wanted to hear and Harry immediately huffed in displeasure. Exhausted, Tom sighed.

Somewhere off in the darkness over the grounds, a Phoenix was singing a haunting lament.


	45. Partings

Word had spread quickly and Witches and Wizards from all over Britain had flooded Hogs-meade Village in order to attend the funeral faster than Harry had thought possible, even with magic. Madame Maxime had arrived at Hogwarts in her massive powder blue carriage drawn by winged Abraxans-causing quite the stir amongst the younger students who had never seen it before-the current Minister of Magic-who Harry had been avoiding like the Plague, along with the small contingent of Aurors who accompanied him-had come as well, though the cynic in him suspected that his presence was much more out of obligation to the position than any real desire to pay his respects to the fallen Headmaster. Fudge, spinning his emerald bowler hat nervously in his hands and looking as stressed as ever despite being almost a year out of the job, was there as well along with Rita Skeeter-who, to his absolute condemnation, clutched a notebook in her cherry taloned hands-and, to his even greater anger, a very insincere looking Dolores Umbridge who wore a black bow perched in her mousy hair. Though, he supposed, it was minorly vindicating to see her suddenly skitter away in fright at the sight of Firenze who stood at the bank of the Black Lake like a sentinel.

The rest of the herd of Centaur inhabiting the Forbidden Forest had come as well, though they were difficult to see in the deep shadows cast between the trees. The Hogwarts Ghosts were also there, visible only when they moved; an opalescent sheen of phantasmal color hanging in the air. Grawp, dressed in a black suit and pants each the size of a small marquee sat at the back of the gathered mourners, boulder-like head bowed and behavior uncharacteristically docile. The surface of the Black Lake rippled with the otherworldly singing of the Mermaids which inhabited it.

Harry sat, numbly, between Ron and Hermione watching as Hagrid-crying silently-carried Dumbledore’s body wrapped in a purple burial shroud adorned with stars up to the front and rested it on the table which had been prepared there. A small man in a black suit, mostly bald with only the occasional tuft of hair protruding from his head at odd angles, rose from his seat and waddled up to the front. Beginning to speak a number of words which none of them could clearly catch.

“Where’s Tom?” Hermione asked him quietly.

“He isn’t coming.”

“What! Why?”

Harry’s green eyes drifted to the distant patch of boulders where he’d often gathered with Kenny and the others during their free periods back in the ‘40’s. Taking in the shape of the black fox which sat there, Nagini coiled at its feet, watching. Ears perked. Close enough to hear but far enough away that most wouldn’t notice its presence.

“He couldn’t afford to be seen by Scrimgeour. The Ministry of Magic doesn’t know about him, and until Voldemort’s been dealt with he’d prefer that it remains that way.”

That was the official reason that Tom had given him for his absence, but he’d seen the real reasoning behind his decision in the depths of the other’s dark eyes.

_I don’t belong there._

It hurt, in the dull yet somehow poignant way that only the second hand pain of a person that one truly cared about could, to know that Tom still felt that way. He’d tried to convince the other boy otherwise, that he was wrong, that he _did_ belong, that despite everything that had happened in the past he had changed and Dumbledore would want him there.

Despite looking as if he were desperate to believe him, still the dark brunet refused.

“Oh,” reluctantly, Hermione dropped the matter and sat back in her chair. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.”

“Why didn’t you offer him your cloak, mate? He still could have come, and then the Minister wouldn’t have been able to see him.”

“I did.” Tom had simply smiled at him-tight with emotions which he _still_ wasn’t used to feeling-and walked away. “He refused: has his reasons. Is working through a few things at the moment and, well…we had a little bit of a fight last night.”

The man had finished speaking now. Reactions of surprise and minor horror swept the gathered group as Dumbledore’s body and the table it lay on caught fire, the white flames raging for only a moment before transforming into a handsome tomb of glittering white marble.

“A fight?” Ginny repeated, voice wavering slightly from left over shock, as if seeking to distract herself from the startling display. “I didn’t think that the two of you _could_ fight.”

“Our relationship isn’t perfect, Ginny. Everyone fights.” He replied with a wrung-out sigh. “And it wasn’t really a fight. Or even an argument. Everything that had happened got the better of me and I just…tore into him. I regret it now, believe me. Especially given our conversation this morning.”

“He didn’t come because he thought he wasn’t welcome. That’s why he isn’t here.” Given that she was in on the secret, Harry shouldn’t have been surprised to have her display insightfulness on a level usually reserved for the likes of Luna. “Even though you offered him the cloak, even though Scrimgeour wouldn’t be able to see him, he stayed away because he felt like he didn’t belong.”

“Oh, why would he think that? Just because he transferred and only knew him for a semester? That’s ridiculous!”

“Your boyfriend is an idiot, mate.”

Despite himself, Harry couldn’t prevent a small smile from unfurling on his face as the Centaurs’ tribute rained down from the sky with a shrill whistling hiss and the Mermaids sank back below the surface of the Black Lake.

“Tom would be the first to tell you that he’s emotionally retarded.” He said, eyes returning to the black fox as it slipped away and headed towards the bridge. With the funeral now over, the mourners began to depart. “But he’s getting better. Despite all of their many differences, Dumbledore would be proud of him for that.”

“We all know you are.” Ginny said as they rose stiffly from their seats, falling in with the rest of the student body as they filtered slowly back towards the Castle. “I know that the three of you and Tom have a ‘talk’ to be getting around to, just keep in mind that the Hogwarts Express will be arriving within the hour. All of you are already packed?”

“Tom made sure that both he and Harry were packed last night. I handled Ron.”

As his younger sister smirked at him Ron turned as red as his hair. “Merlin, Hermione! I’m not a child!”

“Would you have remembered to pack your trunk on your own, Ronald?”

“I…well, yeah! Course I would have!”

“Oh, of course.” Ginny snickered, pulling away from them as the three broke off from the main group and headed towards the covered bridge. “I’ll see you on the train.”

“See you later, Ginny.”

The locket was cold and heavy in his pocket, the double of the real Horcrux bouncing gently against his chest underneath his shirt as they walked down the hill towards the ravine. Tom, as he suspected, was already there standing at the railing and looking out over the rocky crevice hewn into the earth.

Before either Harry or Ron could speak Hermione flung herself into Tom’s arms, nearly sending them both toppling over the edge and into the abyss below.

“Ms. Granger-!”

“You idiot! How could you ever think that you weren’t welcome there! Have you been standing down here this whole time?”

“The Minister-.”

“Don’t try that excuse,” Ron cut in from where he still stood beside Harry. “Harry told us that he offered you the Invisibility Cloak. That you refused because you felt like you shouldn’t be there. Well let me tell you something, you were much more welcome than any of those slimy Slytherin wankers!”

“Watch it Weasley, I am a Slytherin.” There was no bite to his voice and a small, fond smile rested on his thin lips.

“By blood, but not by House.” Not anymore.

“Oh?”

Harry smirked, stepping up beside Hermione and dragging Ron with him. Cornering the dark brunet in an only slightly unwilling group hug. “Maybe in another life.”

“Perhaps.” Submitting to the embrace, likely due to having realized that between the three of them all potential escape routes were blocked, Tom sighed. “A past life. But we’re here for something else, are we not Precious?”

“Yes,” Harry stepped away from him reluctantly, Ron and Hermione immediately releasing Tom as well to focus their attention on him. “We are.”

The locket now felt as if it were made from solid lead and possessed of a conscious sentience, the entire purpose of which was to drag him to the ground.

“Dumbledore sent me to get Tom for help in hunting down Horcruxes.” As expected Ron gave him a blank look but it was somewhat disconcerting for him to see a similar look on Hermione. “A Horcrux…it’s a vessel inside of which a person hides a piece of their soul. To make them immortal. It’s really Dark Magic and it’s how he survived after what happened in Godric’s Hollow. Voldemort…he made seven of them, split his soul into eight pieces, but two of them have already been destroyed. Dumbledore was hunting them, and now the responsibility has been left to Tom and I.”

Both turned white. Ron was gapping at him, horror stricken and unable to speak, and Hermione looked as if on the verge of becoming sick.

“So...a Horcrux is what you were out hunting last night?”

Harry nodded, pulling the locket out of his pocket and glaring at it viciously. “We were, but it was all for nothing. It’s fake! Someone got to it before us.”

“R.A.B., according to the note they left inside it.” Tom said. “Who that is, we’ve no idea.”

“Until we destroy all seven of them Voldemort can’t die! And it’s for that reason, because I’ll be hunting them down and finding some way to get rid of them, that I won’t be coming back to Hogwarts next year.”

“What? Harry, that’s-!”

“Harry has his reasons, Ms. Granger. Please, allow him to explain.” Tom intervened grimly. Once sure neither of them would make further efforts to interrupt, he nodded to the raven. “By all means, Precious.”

“I’m going to go back to the Dursley’s once more. Only because it’s what Dumbledore wanted me to do.” From his expression, it was obvious that saying so was incredibly difficult. “But it’ll be a short visit, and then I’ll be gone for good.”

“And where are you going to go? Like you said, neither you nor Tom know who R.A.B. is so there’s no possible way that you could know where the real locket wound up or what happened to it.” Hermione pointed out. “And what about the other Horcruxes? Do you know what they are? Where they are?”

“That’s why Dumbledore needed me. Blood can be used to reveal many different things, and as Voldemort’s last living blood-relative I was the only person who could provide it without needing to go directly to the source.”

“I’m going to go back. To Godric’s Hollow.” The idea had first sprung into his head the night before and had been gnawing at the back of his mind ever since. “That’s where all of this started for me. That’s where my parents are buried. I could visit their graves.” Harry’s green eyes dropped to his feet and he leaned against Tom for support. “I’d like that.”

“And after you’ve done that?” Ron asked him.

“Harry and I are going to hunt them down, one by one, and destroy them come hell or high water. And then we’re going to go for the Dark Lord himself and end this nightmare once and for all.”

The last stragglers from the funeral could still be seen making their way up towards the front doors of the Castle.

“We’re going to be there, Harry. Hermione and I.”

Raising his head, Harry blinked at his best friend in confused surprise. “What?”

“At your Aunt and Uncle’s, mate. We’re not going to let you do this alone.”

“I won’t-.”

“We _know_ that Tom will be with you, and he’s incredibly strong and so intelligent that is’ almost unnatural but it’s better to have more protection and aid than any one person can provide.” Hermione told him. “Do you remember when you said to us that there was time to turn back if we wanted to? Well, we haven’t. And we’re not going to.”

“Your friends and I are with you, whatever happens.” Tom’s large warm hand fell on his shoulder, applying soothing pressure. “Best served to save your breath and let them come, rather than trying to argue.”

“Remember when I called him an idiot earlier? I take it back. Tom’s bloody brilliant!” The dark brunet rolled his eyes dramatically at the red head’s comment. “But you’ve got to come around to the Burrow before we do anything else. Even Godric’s Hollow. We can’t miss Bill and Fleur’s wedding, after all.”

Bill and Fleur’s wedding? With all that had happened, with everything that he felt sure was still to come, Harry found himself unable to process the prospect that something so mundane and _normal_ could possibly still happen in their world.

Tom, sensing his line of thought, squeezed his shoulder again. “Life,” he said sagely, “goes on. Through nightfall and daybreak. Now, we ought to be away or we’ll run the risk of missing the train home.”

The raven nodded rather stiffly and the dark brunet released his shoulder to take his hand instead. Together, the Golden Quartet left the covered bridge behind and began to make their way towards the train station.

“Ron and I will get back to the two of you about half-way through the journey back. We have last minute Prefectural duties to attend to, I’m afraid.”

Harry didn’t verbally respond. Tom nodded to the two of them and Hermione quickly dragged Ron away. With their shrunken trunks safely tucked away in one of the pockets of his robes, the dark brunet led him onto the cherry red steam engine and located an empty compartment for the two of them.

Tom dealt with stowing and resizing their trunks as Harry pulled the door closed with a metallic clank before slumping onto one of the benches. The taller male sat beside him not long after.

“Why didn’t you tell them who I really am, Precious? The chance to do so finally presented itself, yet you didn’t take it.”

Harry bowed his head, furiously mussing up his black hair and leaving it even more of a bird’s nest than usual. “It wasn’t the time, Tom. I know that we need to tell them everything but…”

“I understand your reasoning but we can’t put it off forever. I know that you don’t want to risk a bad reaction but trust me, this matter will blow up in our faces if we leave it until my counterpart discloses my identity on the field of battle.”

“I know that!”

Tom rolled the Hornbeam wand between his agile fingers for a moment before speaking again. “I can no longer rely solely on my glamor to protect me. With Dumbledore gone and the task of hunting down the remaining Horcruxes dropped into our laps the likelihood that we’ll encounter my counterpart is the highest that it’s ever been. I’ll need something stronger, less subtle, to mask the truth.” He offered a somewhat washed-out smile as silver threading began to sprout from his wand. “And what better to do that than a mask?”

Moments later the completed Fox mask sat in his hands. The very same one that he’d worn on Halloween. Ages ago now, it seemed. The dark brunet raised it to his face and asked “how do I look?”

“I like you better without it. Though I guess not being able to see your face is the point.” Having only gotten less than an hour of sleep the night before Harry felt nearly dead on his feet and nestled into Tom’s side as the other boy banished the mask again. “You won’t be wearing that all the time?”

“No,” Tom replied, stretching himself across the bench and pulling Harry down on top of him, “only when there’s a possibility that he’ll show up. Perhaps whenever we come into contact with the Death Eaters, simply to be safe.”

The raven mumbled something incoherent into his chest.

“I won’t be able to come with you to the Dursley’s, Precious. The Order will want to keep me under their watch. Just stay at #4 until we come for you; it shouldn’t be long.”

Harry’s grip around his middle tightened but he was too far gone to reply with words.

“Things will turn out for the best in the end. He’ll be gone soon. Gone for good this time, and you’ll never have to worry about him again.” With the raven now fully unconscious on top of him, Nagini and Hedwig safely stowed in the still open overhead compartment and the train rocking gently beneath them Tom allowed himself to close his eyes as well.

No one disturbed them until the Hogwarts Express pulled into King Cross Station’s Platform 9 ¾.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that wraps up the first part of the Fox and Stag series; I can't believe it's already half way over! I won't be posting the sequel right away: I need to set up a rough plan of what I'm going to do first, but I should have it out by February at the latest (I hope).  
> In the interim, feel free to check out my other Tomarry series Three Sins which I'll continue to update intermittently while working on this. Thank you all for sticking with me; your comments and feedback really made writing this a fun experience for me. I hope to see you all back for the sequel as well as for some of my other works.


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